


Upon New Wings

by WhisperingWerepire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Concerned Sam, Dealings with angels, Dean Needs to Use His Words, Flashbacks, Fluff, Grief, Hunting, In between Season 13 and 14, M/M, Memory Lane, Messing with souls, No Smut, Possession (kinda), Slow Burn, Traps, Vampires, Wing fluff, Winged Castiel (Supernatural), Winged Dean Winchester, Wingfic, spoilers in the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 131,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23023033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingWerepire/pseuds/WhisperingWerepire
Summary: Rainbows.Innocent and vibrant, marking the change from rain to sun. So fleeting and leaving no trace.And to Dean's luck, they marked a pretty major change in his life. Because angels, always freaking angels and their stupid pride that forces matters into his hands. Dean may just be a soul, but he's the Righteous Soul and screw Michael for taking control of his body! And while he's at it, screw everything else that dares and tries to mess up the first chance at stability he's gotten. He can fix this stupid mess Michael forced him into.The only angel who gets a pardon is Cas, who's trying everything in his power to reassure to Dean. Yet with fading grace that can no longer keep the practically-human-angel together, Cas must push on, push his issues deeper, mend his friends. Although it's time Cas learned the last aspect of humanity, one the Winchesters don't know how to teach, before his ignorance lays him to rest.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 35
Kudos: 62





	1. The Rise of An Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is a wee bit longer than originally intended for my first Supernatural fic, but that's okay! Though if any of you are bird experts or something and I got something wrong, apologizes, for I am not a bird expert. I tried to stay real, but alas, without my own pair of wings to experiment with, I took some creative liberates. 
> 
> But onward! This starts quite quickly, the first chapter is pretty fast-paced, but then backs off considerably. I recommend buckling in, for the chapters are probably going to be on the lengthy side of things. Oh, while I didn't put in the tags and in the rating, the characters get injured and there are mentioning of R-rated stuff, but none of that actually happens. . . so I hope that means I'm good. I'll leave it up to your imaginations of intentions and details. 
> 
> Yep, that's all. I don't have anything else to say. Read on!

It’s never completely silent in the bunker anymore. 

Ever since they pulled off the heist from the Apocalypse World, someone was always awake with him. Someone was flipping pages of a book in the library. Someone was getting a midnight snack from the kitchen. Someone was coming in from a hunt. Someone was leaving for a hunt. Someone was making dead man’s blood bullets, devil trap bullets, witch-killing bullets, and sometimes even angel killing bullets. Despite Castiel’s reassurances that this world has only a sparse number of angels, none of whom are willing to leave Heaven, it seemed to be therapeutic to some of the survivors. 

Castiel found himself willing to forge angel killing bullets if it helped him too. 

Weeks have gone by and Michael, in Dean’s body, has yet to do anything. Nothing from angel radio announced he made a visit to Heaven, no disturbance with the demons, Rowena has picked up nothing from her spells, not one of the hunters who they have informed, and they even informed the British Men of Letters, has said anything. It was like Michael took Dean and they vanished off the face of the Earth. 

Granted, being an archangel, that could have happened. 

Castiel sighed, not bothering to remind himself that he’s been mimicking more human habits these days, and stood, his steps light and quiet as he made his way through the bunker’s hallways. The constant movement and sounds in this place were slightly familiar. It reminded him of when he was in an angel garrison. When he was required to always to be connected to angel radio so that he would have to always be aware of others and they would always be there to give him new orders, to observe him. 

A familiar longing echoed throughout his being, his grace sagging at it. Castiel never missed those days, thinking about them only served to remind him how great it was to be in the company of the Winchesters. If he disappeared on days on end with sparse communications, granted they did get angry at him when he rightfully deserved it, they still trusted him. For some reason he simply cannot fathom, they trusted _him_. 

Again, Castiel stared at the door to Dean’s room and his hand went to clutch the tape in his pocket. He never went in, entirely uneasy to see the room that has not changed since Dean left. Castiel always kept his vessel’s reactions and stimulus under control when he had the adequate grace, his vessel was only supposed to follow his commands and nothing else, but when standing in front of this door, he could never stop it. A distinctive thump pounded in his chest and a fine tremble shook the arm clutching the tape, his legs unable, or perhaps unwilling, to follow his command to enter. 

Castiel couldn’t enter, no matter how many times he has stood in front of this door, he could not. He was an idiot; a stupid idiotic angel that couldn’t do anything right and could not do something as easy as go through a door. Another failure added onto his list. 

His heart thumped heavily inside his chest. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t trying, but usually he tried too much on his own. He never once thought to stop and ask for advice. Since surely a being that has been alive for millennia watching humanity grow, prosper, and shrink wouldn’t make so many utterly human mistakes. Mistakes that led to not only his pain but a pain that leeched onto others and became their downfall. 

How many people would still be alive if he never partnered with Crowley to find Purgatory? 

How many angels would still be alive if he never trusted Metatron? 

How many people and angels would still be alive if he never let Lucifer into his vessel? 

And as much as he hated to think it, how many people would be better off if he just forced Kelly Cline into the portal to Heaven? Jack wouldn’t have to endure this, no being only two years old should endure this, and Jack would be with Kelly in Heaven. He should have had listened to Dean, should have sought out advice. Too much power, no matter the intentions Castiel has, simply caused problems. You can't trust people who haven’t earned it, and that was exactly the same mistake he made over and over again. 

Castiel clenched his jaw, not that he noticed as a phantom of Dean’s voice whispered to him as if Dean were praying to him. It slid through his grace in response to Castiel’s thoughts, so calm compared to the havoc it left behind in its wake. 

_“You had good intentions.”_

_“Cursed or not, I’d rather have you.”_

_“I need you.”_

_“You’re our brother Cas.”_

_“We don’t give up on family.”_

His grace surged and wailed through angel radio, he couldn’t stop it and he didn’t even want to.If it wasn’t for Heaven sucking up so much of his grace, sparks would be showering him as lights bursts.Anything to just make this stop or give him a distraction. Even his vessel, which was undeniably tethered to Castiel, began to tremble, and his broken wings twitched and fluttered. A great empty abyss that simply hurt expanding in his chest and he could not stop the pain. It hasn’t been since his human days since he has had such utter lack of control of this vessel and it added to the list of things Castiel couldn’t do right. 

_He couldn’t even walk through the damned door!_

His hand seized over the tape, desperately trying to keep himself from crushing it. He wanted to, he wanted yank it out and pound it against the door and scream. Dean was gone and these horrible, horrible , reminders kept glaring at him. Worse still, he sought them out. Like some naïve little angel he thought that these tokens of Dean would actually soothe him. A mistake he kept making over and over again. The only thing that reminds him he might not have completely lost it yet is that he hasn’t actually entered Dean’s room yet. 

The music on the tape though, it deserved to be crushed. Maybe some part of Castiel knew this would happen, that standing in front of this door would remind him who’s not in there, and in a way, uses it to make sure he never gives up. The emptiness of the room echoed out to him, and Castiel could take that, he could use that. 

Oh but the tape, Castiel once viewed as one of his most prized possessions, even if the songs never quite interested him, and now Castiel would have sworn that Lucifer, or perhaps a cruel trick of Gabriel, devised this entire plan if it weren’t for the fact that Devil was dead. The songs never changed. 

Castiel hoped that maybe, maybe listening to it might give him the illusion of Dean, being able to imagine him bobbing his head in sync to the tempo, mouthing the words but never quite singing. Cas wished, wished so desperately for it, that listening to the songs would give him hope. 

The songs never changed. They played as the heart in Castiel’s vessel started to jump and hiccup. The same happy tune flowed out as Castiel’s eyes started to burn but he couldn’t heal it because there was nothing wrong with them. There was nothing wrong about the songs but they should be wrong since Dean was gone and they simply couldn’t be the same without Dean! 

Then that wretched song came next, “Ramble On”, and without mercy those words drilled into Castiel. With all the agony of an angel blade, it seared into his fading grace without so much as a care to the shriek he made. The lyrics swarmed his ears even as he turned the vile cassette player off. His vessel lost to him as everything collapsed except for that accused song that wouldn’t leave his mind and give him peace. 

It used to remind him so much of Dean, even if he never quite understood the message, and now Michael glared at him through the words. Michael, who could quite literally be anywhere around the world, has one thing to do and it will end everything they’ve ever worked for. Yet even if they do stop Michael, as Jack put it, Dean might not be savable. 

Still, Castiel could not bring himself to crush the mixtape. 

He wished Dean never gave it to him. He wished to have the ability to pound it into the ground. He wished he could at least open the door and fling it in so he wouldn’t have to deal with it, but Castiel simply cannot get himself to part with it. Castiel never even deserved to receive this gift, let alone keep it. Dean shouldn’t have given it to him! He didn’t deserve it! 

Castiel scowled at the door, his pain quickly lashing out at Dean. Dean should have never trusted Castiel. Never spent any time looking for him in Purgatory. Never wasted a thought in prayer to him. Never should have believed him capable to do anything by himself. And certainly never, never, should have forgiven him. Castiel was not a creature that deserved redemption and yet Dean seemed to be determined to shove it in his face for him to take before he forced it onto Castiel. Some sort of angry forgiveness that Castiel, selfish Castiel, greedily took and took advantage of. 

For all the second chances Dean gave him, Castiel did not do a thing to stop Michael from taking Dean. Dean was at the mercy of an amoral archangel bent on destroying humanity to purge this world from sin. Everything that Dean had fought so hard for, everything that Castiel had come to believe in the short span of a decade, threatened by a creature they had no plan for. They had nothing; no cage, no other dimension, no recipe to kill, no God to come to their rescue, and no Dean to help them. 

No Dean. 

The weight of the thought punched a gasp out of his chest, a massive shudder rippling from that emptiness clawing at him. Dean was gone. Not in Heaven finally at peace. Not in Hell where he could be rescued. Not in Purgatory where he would be fighting to get out of. Not even in the Empty, in an oblivion tucked away from any more pain. No, Michael crushed Dean’s soul with archangel grace while using Dean's body for his own purposes when all Dean wanted was to protect, protect out of his love.Michael snatched Dean in his most desperate moment and Castiel, who was right there when it happened, did absolutely nothing to stop it! 

How helpless could be possibly be? 

Now, there stood little chance, no chance at all of Dean coming back. In every logical sense, Dean was gone forever. There might have been a chance for Castiel to prevent this, but now, nothing.Dean won’t ever be coming back. 

He clenched his fists, glaring at the door and headed back to the library. The odds didn’t matter, all those logical outcomes and predictions mean nothing. Dean has to come back, he has to. 

The expected flare of determination settled in his stride as his grace sparked erratically, clinging onto that fierce hope that Dean wasn’t lost. Castiel needed Dean to still be out there, and he would do everything in his power despite anything. 

Castiel stopped trying to control these emotions, these rash swings of depression and hope for quite some time. He stopped telling himself that this was no different than when Lucifer was stuck in his vessel, when Dean was under the influence of the Mark of Cain, when Naomi controlled him, or any other time when he and Dean couldn’t be around each other and thus he should expect a reaction in a similar manner. He couldn’t tell himself that anymore. This was different, so fundamentally different than those times. 

This was different because instead of their own actions pushing and pulling at each other, Dean had been taken, snatched, stolen by another being much more powerful than any one of them could hope to face. An archangel in its true vessel, the Righteous Man, could exert the full power of its grace with not a single obstacle. 

Sam, in Castiel’s absence, now sat in the library and stared at his laptop. The sight of the younger Winchester, who Castiel had failed as well, unkempt and exhausted sent his grace sparking in a helpless way that eerily resembled a whimper and his increasingly numbing wings dropped. Sam, despite that it was impossible for him to be there any longer than fifteen minutes, rubbed his eyes wearily. 

“Sam,” The Winchester blink blearily and lifted his head briefly to him, unkempt facial hair growing significantly now, before returning his gaze to the screen. “Sam, you should still be asleep. You haven’t properly rested long enough.” 

“Too much to do. Besides,” Sam gestured to his mug, “I’ll be fired up in no time.” 

Castiel opened his mouth to repeat his point, since Sam’s answer didn’t excuse him at all from the fact his body needs sleep, but he let it close with a sigh. This won’t be the last time they have this conversation and Castiel has found trying to enforce his point usually leads to shouting quicker and quicker these days. It never seemed to matter that despite it being close to one in the morning, Sam would insist he’s fine. Winchesters and their stubborn determination. 

Instead Castiel went to go pick up the mug, rightly assuming it needed a refill. Sam shot him a weary smile of thanks and Cas nodded back. Yet as he turned, his eye caught Sam’s screen. An article with a picture of a scene that took him a second to reach back through millennia old memories just to be sure he hadn’t made any false assumptions in the rush of hope that dared to flash through him. 

He. . . he wasn’t wrong. 

He wasn’t wrong! 

The mug dropped from his hands and shattered, drowned out by the shriek of joy that blared through his grace and quivered in his vessel’s heart. His breathing staggered, plans formulating at once. They would need the angel handcuffs, angel bullets, anything that could possibly weaken Michael. Ketch and Rowena would need to come along too, in case they had some knowledge of sigils or spells that could subdue Michael. Jack mustn’t be allowed to come since he doesn’t have the skills to fend for himself yet. They will have to leave soon, within the hour, if they want to make it in time to- 

“Cas!” Sam clapped in front of him, peering at him closely. “What’s up man? Are you alright?” 

Castiel blinked at him, because, of course, Sam wouldn’t know the gravity of this situation. Castiel couldn’t waste much time explaining though, this was their shot and they absolutely cannot wait for the next one. This was it, they could do this. 

“This-” He pointed to the screen’s picture of a circular rainbow rippling in the sky- “is an angelic omen. Unlike demon omens, they do not appear when there is angel activity in the area, only when a celestial being is created.” 

Sam’s eyes widened, shooting a look of renowned interest at the article. “So an angel was just birthed in. . . the fields between Rugby and Devil’s Lake North Dakota, of course.” 

Castiel huffed, Sam hasn’t grasped how time sensitive and critical this was. “Sam, only Michael would have the power to do something of this magnitude. The fact that he has figured out how to do such a feat is worrying enough, however, the process must not yet be finished. There would be a huge blast of celestial energy if it was, that I, even in my weakened state, would be able to detect. Time is of the essence right now.” 

“I’ll the alert the others.” Sam jumped and streaked towards the map room. “You go collect everything we need and everything we might.” 

Castiel nodded, he could do that. “And Sam, make sure Jack doesn’t come, he isn’t ready to handle this sort of thing.” 

“Honestly Cas? I don’t think any of us are.” 

With that, Sam was gone from his sight. Castiel darted to storage, burying the wish to hear Dean’s carefree humor and determination that this will go right because fate owed them a win and instead buried it with calculations and probabilities of what they would need and what they wouldn’t. 

Castiel flurried around the room with the sort of chaotic precision that a vengeful spirit could never hope to achieve. He made one trip in just under five minutes. Another in four, his pace increasing as hope and panic trilled through grace and blood. On his third trip, Ketch and Rowena were there packing what they deemed necessary. Curt questions of where things were answered in short, cut off tones that were nothing more than what was strictly necessary. 

In short of an hour, he was sitting in the backseat of the Impala with Rowena as Mary drove with Sam in the passenger’s seat. Bobby’s trucked followed behind them, Charlie with him. Ketch was on his motorcycle behind and another couple of hunters behind him. All Castiel could do now was hope that they had enough supplies and hunters to succeed. 

They needed to succeed. 

“So, Castiel,” Rowena drew out his name, which got her a sideways, very irritated glance. “Care to tell us any more about this so-called angelic omen?” 

He really would rather not, that would force Castiel to think about the implications of Michael being able to create angels. Yet when he saw the expecting looks of both Sam and Mary in the rearview mirror, Castiel’s shoulders dropped in reluctant agreement with a sigh. 

“Angelic omens haven’t occurred since before the time of man, earlier than that even. They only occur when there’s a boon of created celestial life on Earth. Jack would have had a similar, yet undoubtedly smaller, omen when he was born, but I drew up multiple runes and warding to conceal that.” 

Castiel sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. He felt tired, drained of the usual energy that only ever dipped should his grace be weakened. An unsettling thought of having to sleep came to the front of his attention and he covered the groan he felt building in his throat with another sigh. 

“The main concern of ours is how Michael is doing this. Archangels don’t have the raw power needed to create one, I’m not even sure if Jack could at full power. However, with a foundation and something to draw strength on, it could be possible.” 

“Foundation?” Mary narrowed her eyes at him through the rearview mirror. “What do you mean by that?” 

“A soul. Most likely a regular one, but a tougher soul, mostly likely from an Alpha monster,might be what’s required for the process.” 

“Soul magick.” A thin sigh blew from Rowena’s mouth, her tone going wispy in awe or shock.“We’re dealing with chaos now boys.” 

Sam cleared his throat, “Okay, what about runes? Sigils? Would Michael need to cast any spells or have some sort of special object?” 

“I don’t know.” Fear started to poke holes in his hope, the flaws of their plan glaring at him. “If he had a Hand of God that would certainly be helpful. I would assume he would need some sort of sigils and holy oil to contain and direct the power. We must remember that this Michael was able to fully translate the angel tablet from his world, he knows much more than us.” 

Rowena huffed, rolling her eyes. “Why aren’t you just the optimistic one.” 

“I’m being realistic.” Castiel’s grace flared as he glared at her. “We are doomed if we should believe false hopes.” 

He saw Mary and Sam exchange a glance, another spike of resent cutting through him. Castiel knew that he has become more and more gruff the longer Dean was absent, reverting to his former stoic way of communication rather than put forth the effort to appear more socially adapt. It was quite frankly tiring, and he couldn’t be blamed for not being able to maintain normal optimism when, as he thought the saying went, the cards were stacked against them. 

“Okay, well, that’s our first goal.” Sam readjusted himself and Castiel kept his face neutral. “Disrupt the angel creation, or if we’re able, weaken Micheal by turning the power against him.” Sam suddenly shot a worried look behind his shoulder to Castiel. “That won’t kill him though, right?” 

“No, Michael will be able to take the full hit and if we manage to save Dean during this, he will be able to recover.” 

Sam bobbed his head. “Good, good, that’s good. Even if we can’t do that, we'll weaken him while he’s distracted with finishing the process. Once we do that, we need to access Dean’s mind and pull Michael out. Rowena, you’re confident that you could send him into the cage?” 

“I’ve reinforced the spell work and have only the highest quality of ingredients, the only way it won’t work is if it’s downright impossible to accomplish.” 

“Cas?” He met Sam’s look with reluctance, yet he refused to show it. “You can get into Dean’s mind to help him eject Michael, right?” 

Castiel resisted the urge to shift in his seat, frustration at his growing humanity shimmering within him, since technically the answer is no. Castiel, especially in his weakened state, would fail to have enough grace to force a connection with Dean. The only way he could would be if he left this vessel into Dean’s, yet considering that he hasn’t left this vessel in many years and was forced to accept it as his body during Purgatory, his phase as a human, and while in the Empty, he might not even have the strength to do that. 

“I would need assistance.” His teeth gnashed together, another limitation of his, another failure,mocking him. “I don’t have the strength to get past Michael, to Dean, and then help him eject Michael.” 

Mary threw a look at all of them, grip tightening on the wheel. “Do we have something that could help with that? And faster than that Men of Letters contraption?” 

“African dream root.” Sam managed to send a little smile to his mother, the action yanking Castiel’s attention to the terrible ache in his chest. Where mixed emotions Castiel never bothered to label except with the term _painful_ and _undesirable_ began to exponentially ache. “Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty to help Cas get into Dean’s mind.” 

Mary returned the gesture, the ache clamping Castiel’s lungs and forcing the air out. “Great. Sounds like a winning Winchester plan to me.” 

“Only the best are.” Sam pulled out his phone and tapped on the small screen. “I’m going to explain this to the others, see what they think.” 

Sam only received silent confirmations and Castiel’s head barely dipped low enough to be considered a nod. He released a long breath of air and leaned his head back, welcoming the feeling of his neck relaxing. Castiel closed his eyes, sulking within his despair at should this plan go sideways, if he could even handle that, and sinking within his exhaustion. It was all so much, so easy to overwhelm with his grace distraught and weakened. 

When Castiel opened his eyes, he expected to see much of the same scenery surrounding Dean’s beloved vehicle when he closed them. Yet not only was that completely inaccurate, the formerly black sky twinkling with stars was now fully bright. He could even see the rainbow ring, dull and very faded, but there. The sudden realization of close Michael is, how close they are at either getting Dean back or failing, created a nauseating clench of muscles in his stomach. 

“Ah, Sleeping Beauty’s awake. How did you rest dear?” Castiel glared at Rowena, a sense of disharmony floating through him, even if he could detect a genuine tone in her voice. 

“Fine. How long was I asleep?” 

Sam, who now drove as Mary examined her gun- a trait, Castiel saw with a pang, she shares with Dean- in the passenger seat, rose an eyebrow at him. “A whole ten hours-” 

“Don’t worry dear, you didn’t snore.” 

“-and didn’t even wake when Mom tried to blast rock music to stay awake. Are you sure alright Cas? It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you sleep.” 

Sam’s tone came off light and not overly concerned, yet the weight of them press against Castiel’s temples. He hasn’t slept since when his stolen, burning grace was wearing off, if passing out from Rowena’s curse didn’t count. The only other times he has slept before that was when he was human and when he was cut off from Heaven their first time trying to lock archangels in the cage. 

“I’m storing my grace for when we encounter Michael, with it taking longer for it to recharge, I see it as a waste to burn it trying to stay awake all the time.” Castiel lied, the only truth being that his grace did indeed take longer to recover, but Castiel has been trying to use his grace to stop the ache resonating through him. Selfish Castiel has yet to vanish it appears. 

“Hmm, good call then.” Castiel refused to release the sigh of relief collecting in his lungs when Sam accepted the lie. “We’re about as close as we can road wise, and I’m not sure how far we can go off roads, so do whatever is you have to and do it soon.” 

Betraying him, his hands went to clutch the tape still in his pocket. His fingers clamped down on it when he suddenly thought it might be destroyed or simply damaged in the coming fight. He couldn’t let that happen, yet still he felt reluctant to separate himself from the mixtape. Even leaving it in the Impala stirred at him, since if Michael did end up killing everyone then Castiel was going to die with this last remnant of Dean with him. 

He ended up putting it in the inside pocket of his suit. Virtually impossible for it to fall out now, unless something slashed through his clothes, and would be tucked next to Castiel until victory or the bitter end. Whichever came last. 

His hands twitched against his will. Castiel, after taking a deep breath, sharply reprimanded himself for acting in such a manner. He did not flinch when Raphael descended upon him despite the whole new plethora of emotions swarming him for the first time after he directly disobeyed Heaven’s orders. He never felt this nausea when he stood up against this world’s Michael. Castiel was created, first and foremost, to be a warrior and that was how he was going to act until this was over. 

A certain wave of resolve washed through him, his limbs not quite so shaky and what remains of his grace settled. The aching in his chest did not dissipate, Castiel believed it was some form of painful disappointment lodged inside him, but it was used as more motivation to get this right. This was their shot and Castiel would not let the opportunity pass. 

He climbed out of the Impala when it gently came to halt, a slight breeze ruffling his trench coat and he felt a rather discontented sense of foolishness. That of all things he could have worn, a suit with a trench coat seemed the silliest. An angel was created, or in the process of, and when it first sees Castiel it will see his tattered grace in this out-of-place trench coat. 

Castiel flexed his right arm, feeling the weight of the angel blade in his sleeve, and headed towards the trunk. Rowena handed him a flask, one he commonly sees hunters drink alcohol from, but instantly knew it was dream root from the distinct smell around the flask. He ended up tucking the flask into his waistline at his back, that while not the easiest place to grab it from, seemed to be the most fitting if he needed to use it but keep it out of the way. 

He waited for the others to finish preparing themselves, looking at their destination. Castiel could vaguely see what it was they were headed for. A black dot in the field, but not much else. Michael had not made his move yet, but he could have surely sensed Castiel’s presence by now. 

“Okay everyone!” Castiel diligently turned towards to Sam. “Everyone knows the plan?” 

“Yeah, we get it!” Bobby’s gruff remark was soon followed by him marching towards the black dot. “Let’s go ya idjits and get this over with.” 

Everyone followed instantly, and Castiel strode his way next to Ketch, who was using binoculars,near the front and off to the side. Sam, Bobby, Mary, and Rowena were in a hushed conversation while Charlie spoke with the other three hunters that joined this group. Castiel understood they had to be good for Sam to let them come, but he didn’t know their names. They were weary of angels and he did not bother to remember their names among his worry for Dean. 

“What do you see?” 

Ketch huffed and handed him the binoculars. “I’m more confused at the lack of things I’m seeing. From what I can tell, there’s only one figure out there. I can’t even say what that figure is.” 

Castiel realized what Ketch meant when he lifted the binoculars to his face. It was hard to make out details, but he ruled out the possibility of there being a table to do spell work on. Yet the shape looked familiar, something he should know but never seemed relevant before enough to fully take notice. He brought the binoculars down and shook his head at Ketch, a frustrated sigh coming from the other man. Despite them not being able to learn more, Michael didn’t seem to know they were coming. Which was pleasant surprise to have that as an advantage, no one suspected it with Castiel coming. 

Between one step and the next, the air charged. Tinged with celestial energy and buzzing with the aftermath of powerful magic. He saw Rowena lift her head as he looked through the binoculars again, the unease stirring within caused his stomach to fully twist when he recognized the position the angel was in. 

Castiel darted over to Sam, hearing Ketch behind him, and thrusted the binoculars in his hand. “That angel has manifested wings-” 

“Wait a moment,” Castiel turned to Charlie, not pleased with her interruption. “I thought angel wings existed on a whole different dimension or wavelength or something.” 

“They do. The only time I’ve ever seen them even partially manifest is when an angel falls from Heaven and they burn. I don’t have a clue as to what it could mean.” 

“Is that Michael?” Sam passed the binoculars to Mary and turned his head towards Castiel, keeping his eyes on the figure that was becoming easier to see even without the binoculars. 

“It could be. Yet since he’s not reacting to my presence, I’m inclined to say that’s the incomplete angel.” 

Bobby snorted, adjusting his cap. “Would explain why the sucker is just balled up like an infant.” 

“We still don’t know what has happened to Michael.” Castiel scanned the area with both his eyes and what grace he had, trying to find Michael. Yet his grace was of no help. The air hummed with a celestial energy, practically buzzing with it, and there was no way Castiel would be able to use anything more than his eyes. 

“Michael’s not reacting because he can’t see me.” Castiel whispered the realization as it came to him, jaw tensing at why he hadn’t figured that out sooner. “With so much celestial energy, it’s camouflaging both of us.” 

Sam instantly waved his arms in a series of movements that Castiel understood to be ready and be silent before he picked up pace. Even without the binoculars, it was possible to see the wings of the angel. The flicker of curiosity persisted despite the situation and the pressure of their actions. After so many thousands of years he would finally know what angel wings looked like in the physical realm. An angel could barely even feel their own wings unless they moved them, his burnt ones almost completely numb, the limbs simply incapable of sensation expect when partially manifested during the fall to burn- or so Castiel heard. 

Castiel pushed that aside when they got closer, growing closer still. The air went from charged to thick and whether he liked it or not, it intoxicated his grace. Like smoke, he couldn’t escape it. Castiel couldn’t do a thing as his grace unwillingly began to flare and spark up, flowing into his vessel in bursts of waves. He would have to guzzle the entire flask of dream root to get to Dean if his grace stayed in high power like this. 

When they grew close enough to make out fine details, and the discarded jug to the side, not much more could be seen except for color of the wings. Dark bronze at a distance, but then came out to a paler, a dark gold which blended into a metallic shine that gleamed with the sunlight. It was a shame that it practically impossible to save this angel; its wings were beautiful. 

Castiel briefly wondered what his own wings would look like, before they were destroyed, but pushed the thoughts aside when they drew close enough to see the individual feathers. Large primary feathers encasing the figure inside, Michael must have used a human soul while it was still in a body for the angel to have a physical body to cover. 

“Stop!” 

The sudden order came from Rowena ahead of him, and even though obeyed at once, several glares shot in her direction. She certainly didn’t care as she stared in slight horror and slight fascination at the ground surrounding the figure. 

Castiel, slowly, came up along with the others to see. He couldn’t stop his eyes from growing at the sight. A rune, more complex than the one he made to enter Purgatory, glowed at their feet. The bloody substance almost seemed have embers within on its first impression, as if a fire burned quietly inside them, and with slight surprise, he perceived the liquid flowing. The speed couldn’t be faster than a snail, yet it glided along by some unseen power source. Castiel has never seen runes quite like this and committed it to memory. 

He opened his mouth and raised his head- 

Charlie stepped on it. The rune now broken and the ember-like glow the blood gave off died into a deep red, its slow movement undoubtedly halted as well. 

“What?” Charlie shrugged when everyone stared at her. “You said our first goal is to stop the-” 

She kept talking, but Castiel’s attention tore apart when his grace screeched. An onslaught of energy, grace, sheer _power_ , overwhelming his failing grace. He was still. He was lashing out. He was silent. He was screaming. He couldn’t tell, couldn’t even begin to comprehend what was happening to his vessel as his grace froze and fruitless tried to brace itself. 

Only with the completely instinctual reflex when he couldn’t shield himself from the onslaught,he hurtled himself completely into his vessel to detach from his grace. Even then, he immediately collapsed on his knees, the body quaking at the rush formidable energy drenched over him. 

“Cas? Ca-” 

“Run!” The word wheezed from his mouth. “Cover your eyes! Get away!” 

His body began to spasm out of his control, and he couldn’t ignore his grace any longer. It smashed into him and he hoped that they were running because if he could not even stand among this energy then they would become ashes soon enough. The force that diligently drummed against Castiel left him barely able to think and it should probably be considered a miracle he was still conscious at all. 

Castiel struggled against it though, unwillingly to simply be beaten like this, and his thoughts raced to come up with something to protect since his grace wasn’t strong enough to do the job. Angels exist as celestial waves of light, if he could just tune his grace to match alongside instead of fighting it then he might have a chance to at least survive this. Hopefully, the angel could always reject him. 

It took an incredible amount of willpower, his entire being quaked at the force and his own grace was shrieking its pleas into angel radio or just shrieking because that’s all Castiel was able to do. Shriek under wave and wave of undeniable power. 

Then he synced. Oh and then he synced. 

The torturous onslaught suddenly became overwhelming fuel as he gobbled up the radiant energy overflowing from the angel. His grace swelled and cried out, finally feeling restored after so long of tampering off slowly over the past half year to keep Heaven steady. Castiel shuddered, some sort of laugh sob reaction getting caught in his throat and he was thoroughly perplexed on what to do next while simultaneously not caring in the slightest. 

He peeled open his eyes, simply having to know what this angel looked like. What Michael did to accomplish such a feat. Surely this could not be an ordinary angel, the rays of raw energy bursting from it couldn’t be from the creation of something ordinary. The still functioning part of him was considering trying to coax it to join their side, but most of Castiel hung tenuously onto his consciousness so he could just see. 

The angel shook his great wings, the metallic gold gleaming under the sun, and began to stand. Castiel barely began to figure out how to breathe normally before the ability was ripped away again as the wings unfurled, bright green pulses striking down each of its feathers’ rachis. It should be impossible. Simple movement should not be doing this to him. Something so enrapturing should not be possible. Something that could obliterate all his senses and his ability to function cannot exist, it just can’t. Yet he gaped at the angel as its wings, its pure beautiful wings, captured him entirely. 

Castiel, for the first time since he prayed for a sign about what to do about opening Purgatory, prayed to his Father that his death would be swift. 

Dean, the very infuriating stubborn Dean whose decayed body was rebuilt by him and whose soul was healed by him, was staring down at him. While his black slacks remained clean and fresh, his bare chest bore a bloody sigil, similar in design to the one Charlie broke. His eyes glowing with unnerving brightness, which Castiel distantly realized were the same color of Dean’s eyes, as he took his first step forward. 

Castiel could not move if he wanted to. With energy radiating down upon him and his despair wailing that Michael has done some horrible twisted thing to Dean just to increase his power, it left Castiel in no state to be able to coordinate movements between his limbs, let alone achieve something like balance. 

God did not answer Castiel’s prayer. 

Michael muttered, quiet and soft, but the Enochian words sent blasts of energy straight into Castiel. It was meant to rip at him, to claw at the very essence of his grace. His quiet mutters sending such a ruthless force that Castiel was sure that his grace would be utterly wiped out from existence if this lasted anything longer than a minute. 

Vaguely, Castiel recognized his vessel’s screaming voice while his grace screeched and shrieked and screamed as if his grace is being gutted out of him alive. That’s the only way to describe this.Michael was gutting his grace, not just sucking it out of him in a clean and quick way but ripping it out of him slowly. 

His screams, both human and angelic, ended in an abrupt choke as the air was sucked out of him. Then he felt it. Entirely human yet humming in tune to celestial energy, two limbs flapped out of his back and stretched out into the air. The once numbed limbs burst to life, every burnt feather sizzling and every charred section of skin and bone throbbing as his grace rushed back into the two desecrated limbs back, leaving Castiel’s sanity behind in the whirlwind of agonizing sensations. 

Yet still Michael wasn’t done as he stepped closer still, just far enough that Castiel couldn’t reach out and touch him with his hands, but just barely. Whimpers of mercy poured from his lips as Michael’s wings, still pulsing with that brilliant green of Dean’s eyes, began to curl towards his own burned wings sprayed out limp to the sides. This was it, some sort of final torture before he was either sent back to the Empty or simply wiped from existence. 

Castiel winced and braced himself before Michael’s feathers reached him, opening his mouth for one last time. 

“Goodbye Dean.” 

The feathers brushed against his wings and all of that power, the sheer energy that once was simply coming off of Michael as excess, focused and narrowed in on Castiel. It flowed straight into him and bashed into him, not that Castiel even attempted to resist it. It got into Castiel down to his very core, that sense of him, that wasn’t a soul and could exist without grace but has yet to have a name. When the power touched him, it choked out every other sensation and sent him reeling, only coherent enough to brace for the end. 

A stuttering gasp staggered out of him when all that energy began to hum, strangely familiar but Castiel didn’t have think to dwell on that as the energy began soothing him while it rushed to his wings on a mission. He just remained utterly and impossibly still, right there in front of Michael on his knees ready to die, as his wings started to _heal_. 

The bones came first, a dizzying high as all the cracks mended and strengthened again. Muscles seemed to grow right then and there, twitching for the first time ever. Skin then wrapped around him and he couldn’t stop himself from comparing it to when Dean wrapped a blanket around him after he collapsed, how warm and relaxing and so very welcome it was. 

Yet his astonished yelp was torn from his throat when feathers erupted out. All of them all at once, to the soft scapulars closest to his back from the large primaries bursting at the very tips of his wings. They ruffled together, brushing up together in a way that was so totally new and yet so firmly right he found myself wishing his wings could have been physical from the day he was created. 

When they finished, Castiel drew in a deep breath and snapped them out, stretching his wings. His grace rushed eagerly back into his limbs and it was quite possibly one of the most momentous sensations he has ever felt. Castiel turned to see, to know what his own wings looked like, and his jawed slackened at the sight of the pitch-black wings lighting up with pulses of his grace. Such a bright contrast of bright blue pulsing down through the black, that in his dazed state, he began to wonder if this was all really real or not. 

He turned back to Michael, not sure what to expect, but a grinning face wasn’t it. It sent a reflexive happiness through Castiel simply because it looked exactly how Dean does when he truly smiles. All giddiness and innocence despite the traumatic life he must endure. A sight that he cannot deny he loves but a strangled sob punches out of his gut because he still wasn’t sure if that’s Michael or not. 

“Cas,” Castiel’s wings and body shuddered violently when Michael, Dean, knelt and brushed his cheeks with his thumbs, not smiting him, and a spasm rocked through his grace. “You with me buddy?” 

Dimly he realized he was crying at some point or another as Castiel reached up and grabbed hold of the hands on his face. Almost too scared to breathe in the air he needed to speak with. 

“Dean?” His fingers curled into Dean’s hands tighter. “Dean, is that you?” 

“Yeah, yeah, Michael’s gone for good.” Dean just kept on smiling, nodding his head with a rare enthusiasm. “I’ll tell you the story later, man it’s one that freaking Hollywood would have trouble believing. Later though, c’mon, I feel too good to just to be standing here. Come on Cas! Get your feathery ass up!” 

“And do what?” Despite his question, Cas raised himself on wobbly legs. He was about to blame the energy, Dean’s energy, when he realized it has been diminished greatly. It wasn’t gone, but since the restoration of his wings, it became more of a pleasant pulse rather than overwhelming waves. 

He opened his mouth, questions hanging on his tongue, but Dean pushed him. Cas’s legs wobbled and only his wings instinctively fluttering kept his balance. Feathers brushed against the soil, dirt worming in between them, and grass dragged softly against them. It left him gasping, the simple stimulation reeled through both nerves and grace. Castiel attempted to use his grace to separate the sensations, yet found he couldn’t. Not when his grace intertwined with the physical nerves so thoroughly that the two didn’t exist separately. 

“C’mon Cas! You got tagged!” Dean backpedaled away from Cas; his grin grew and showed no sign of understanding the severity of everything that has occurred in this moment. “I want to see you just try to catch me.” 

Dean’s wings snapped, arched up and flared out at him, lightening up with a flash of green as his energy pulsed out with excitement. Cas’s wings shivered, lowered submissively before he forced them to stay stiff and folded at his back. This was going much too fast. Castiel had _wings_ on his back, wings he had no idea of the physical properties of or if they have been restored to the point that he can fly through space and time again. He needed to- 

Dean jumped, and with a powerful flap from his wings, shot into the air. Dean's energy throbbed with purpose, thrusting him up. He hollered out and his excitement bled into the air, pouring over Castiel, intoxicating him with it. 

Grace rushed to his wings, and only half a second later, Cas flew up after him. A smile erupted on his face; his wings felt so fundamental right as the air rushed past him. His grace swelled and poured strength into them, the feathers expanding and twisting to propel and steer him. It was much less effective than when he could fly through space and time, but Castiel found myself thinking that didn’t matter in the slightest. He instantly loved flying like this. 

Dean kept flying higher and higher, his wings gleaming in the sunlight and with his own pulses of energy. Cas flapped after him with eyes locked on his wings. Dean’s wings glowed, not just green at the roots, but the sun shone on his feathers to make them golden rays. Green pulses that highlighted their divine aura, the colors shifting as Dean beat into the sky. Dazzling the air and shimmering in the clouds, Cas pushed himself higher, ignoring the strain, and grinned when he started to gain with those beaming colors growing more vibrant, urging him closer still. 

His grace hollered, rippling out through his wings, and blasted him up. So close, so close now until he got Dean. Just a bit further- 

Dean glanced down and sailed sideways, well out of reach now, before he twisted around to smirk at him. Cas locked gazes with Dean's, a soft green glow coming from his, and Cas saw the challenge there. Dean's larger eagle wings glinted and shifted with ease, the inside, pale sunshine feathers practically taunted his black, smaller more owlish wings. Almost lazily, Dean spun and soared with one flap of his wings. Determined, Cas flapped after him. Muscles strained and grace surged after him, but it was certainly taking its toll. Castiel’s wingspan was shorter than Dean's and so his grace pumped more strength to compensate, straining to keep up. 

Yet after so long of trying to locate Dean, Cas seethed at the thought of letting Dean slip through his grasp now. 

Strategies whirled in his head, eyes peeled for any weaknesses Dean might reveal. Dean's wings certainly had a lot of power and it didn’t take as much work for him to stay so high, so Cas can’t tire him out. 

A smile tugged at his lips and he pushed his wings faster, turning into the clouds. Cas still couldn’t pinpoint Dean within the energy-blasted air, and so, Dean couldn’t detect Cas. However, now familiar with Dean's radiant power, Cas felt where Dean was by tracking him from the ripples he sent through the air. 

Silently, owl wings did have their advantages, Cas slipped into the clouds and instantly out of Dean’s sight. Dean’s energy waves stilled after a moment, no longer soaring away from him. His grin grew when he began to hear Dean's wing flaps and Cas forced his grace to surge until he rose above Dean. Out of the cloud cover, yet Dean never thought to look up. 

Stamping out the war cry trilling through his grace, he dove at Dean. From some sixth sense, Dean glanced up right as Cas dove into his back and shoved himself back, twisting out of reach and sliding into the clouds. Only the slightest sound whispered from his wings as he hid again. 

He grinned as Dean cursed, flying further from him. From what Cas could tell, Dean lost sight of him. Without- 

A blast hit him, a shockwave repelling his grace. His grace ripped away from this vessel and a flail of panic flared through him when he did not go with it, his physical body was supposed to be transported with his grace- shot the miles and miles away from the sigil. Yet instead Cas slumped, wings incredibly drained and flogged as they tried to keep flapping, and Castiel was left teetering on the brink of consciousness as he grace rocketed and burned out of him. Bright blue, almost white, sparks streaked upward, no physical form holding it away from Heaven. 

He dropped. Cas tried, desperately tried to keep his wings flapping as fear began to motivate him, but the joints did not respond. The feathers barely twitched as he plummeted, and the wind twisted and wrapped his wings beyond his control. Falling, Castiel was falling all over again, so helpless and powerless to the forces around him. 

“Dean!” Dean would be falling too, his celestial energy would be blasted and this would be his first experience. Dean must be in a far worse position, perhaps even believing the fall would kill him.“Dean!” 

Castiel's body swiveled, eyes strained against the wind and sun to find Dean. Shouting again, he forbade his thoughts to think if Dean fell. Yet his fear painted a vivid picture of Dean splattered, his magnificent golden wings drenched with his own blood, on the ground. Bile stung at his throat and doubt stung his chest if Dean can survive the fall. 

“Dean! Dean!” His shouts tripped into frantic and he couldn’t even see Dean because of this infuriating wind! “Dean!” 

The wind finally overpowered his efforts to turn, plunging him down headfirst as his feathers rustled limp beside him, the blue pulse of his grace gone. His head pushed towards his chest and there was Dean, not anywhere close to Cas’s battered predicament, diving to him. His wings tightened to his back, streaking down with purpose behind Cas, gaining speed. 

Cas tried to spread his wings, to slow down, but the wind was a wall and he could not push against it with the feeble strength tattered inside him. He glanced up to the ground, the rushing wind suddenly drowned out by the thunderous staggering of his heart at how close the ground was approaching. Castiel knew, from unfortunate past experiences, that the landing wouldn’t kill him. Yet it would render him weak and practically helpless, definitely useless. 

Unless, of course, the circumstances of this fall were different enough to guarantee death. 

Dean slid behind him and grabbed his chest, Dean’s legs wrapping over his, before Dean twisted them. The wind slammed into them when his wings snapped out, the air rushing at Castiel yet he could barely suck any into his lungs. The wind, the ever-powerful wind, crushed all his attempts to do anything. How Dean stayed firm through this onslaught, Castiel will never know. 

“Cas! Cas you have to spread your wings!” Dean’s shout blared right next to his ear, yet Cas shook his head as he attempted to move the joints. The muscles trembled and bones groaned but neither followed his command. He couldn’t spread his wings. 

“Cas you have to or we’re gonna hit!” The ground was fast approaching still, maybe a lot slower, but since Dean can’t thrust downward for any lift, gravity mercilessly yanked them down. 

So Cas tried again, he scrunched up his eyes and willed his wings to spread. The muscles shrieked and even the feathers burned when he shifted them slightly. He couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t move, why his wings felt so unresponsive and fiery as if they were lacking oxygen. The groundgrew, Cas could now see Sam and the others as little black dots, growing quickly, and still his wings would not budge. They were going to hit! He had to spread his wings! Why couldn’t they spread? 

”Dean I-” 

”Damnit Cas! _Spread your wings!”_

With a great shudder, his wings unfurled an inch. Some sort of groan-scream clawed out of Cas’s chest as he focused and pushed. His wings quaked and the serious thought that hitting the ground would feel better popped in his head, but Cas banished it and spread them out farther. Dean mumbling nonsense, to keep going, and finally his wings stretched out far enough, about a foot or two, that the wind blew them open. 

Cas screamed, the utter force of the wind hurtled itself onto his wings and _damnit, it hurt!_ Tears swept up by the wind and he screwed his eyes shut, formless thoughts pleading for this to stop. Of all the torture inflicted on him, it all paled to this. Knifes twisted at the root of every feather. Blood poured over muscles like lava, nothing able to escape the thick engulfing lava as it seared his muscles. The very bones in his wings throbbed stronger than his heart. Just to make it worse, a sharp pitch stung his ears and stabbed his brain. 

The screams withered in his throat as it was rubbed dry, but he refused to open his eyes. It couldn’t- sight was just too much. The agony wrenched out of his two new limbs bombarded him, leaving Castiel, once a great warrior of Heaven, spineless to everything. The only thing that broke through his ocean of pain was the little brushes from the tips of Dean’s feathers over his as he fluttered them. As to why Dean was fluttering his wings, Castiel couldn’t care less. It gave him something to hold on to. 

“Hey, hey man,” Castiel felt Dean release his legs, the forgotten limbs dangling down before gravity. “Bend your knees for the landing.” 

Moaning, summoning whatever discipline that he had left, Cas peeled open his eyes. Dean’s flutters strengthened into flaps, the ground only meters below them. For a brief second, Cas managed to work through the torment his wings were shredded by and throw his legs out to catch him. Not that it did much good. For the moment Castiel’s feet touched the ground, his knees wobbled and would have collapsed if Dean wasn’t still holding onto him. An awful whine screeched around him, it keened and Castiel felt the urge to bash his head if it would give him just a moment’s peace from that accursed pitch. 

“Whoa Cas,” Dean’s position shifted, his larger wings easily blanketed Cas's as he struggled to support himself. “What’s up with you?” 

“I-” 

“Micheal!” Sam’s voice rang out and Castiel moaned, resisting the urge to slump down when his body trembled precariously. “Release Cas and get out of Dean!” 

Castiel squinted to see what was happening, which still took serious concentration even if his wings didn’t feel as tortured by now, he spotted guns trained on them while Charlie seemed to be helping Rowena with some sort of spell. The angel sigil that expelled his grace on the ground next to them, bigger than normal and still releasing that grating pitch which had Castiel desperately wishing that he had the strength to lift his arms and cover his head. 

“I’m not Micheal! C’mon Sa-” Dean loosened his grip and Castiel almost face-planted right into the dirt, forcing Dean to stay to support him. “Sammy, it’s me. Dean. No-” 

Castiel decided that closing his eyes is acceptable, it allowed him to quell the fading, but ever strong pulses throbbed and ached from his wings. The screech from the sigil, scratching and clawing at his wings, bristles dragging through his feathers, made him want to curl up. Castiel hasn’t felt such awful inability to do anything since when Naomi drilled into him. 

It would have been better to hit the ground. The impact would register him unconscious at the very least or dead and oblivious to all things. If he did survive, perhaps Castiel could even remain unconscious until he was somewhat healed. After all, Metatron made him fall after he took his grace, only leaving Castiel a sliver as to not die on impact, and while that first day as a human accounted for one of his worst experiences, Castiel recovered. 

_“Cas! Tell them!”_ Dean’s hiss cut through to him, his voice somehow louder than the shrieking, and dragged Castiel back to awareness, back to that hair-pulling insane wailing that torn at his wings. 

“Wha...” The words dried on Castiel’s mouth, his tongue puffed up and bristly against his mouth. Since when was his mouth so dry at all? Was it the wind? With his scratched out vocal cords in his desiccated throat, Castiel buried the hope he could produce any noise stronger than the siren pounding at his brain- if he could even think of anything to say. 

He knew Dean would be disappointed, his wings shuddered despite their weakness, but Castiel’s head lolled down limp. The effort that it took to keep it up now unbearable to Castiel’s withering state. It would have been best if that sigil blasted him a continent away. It must be some strange thing Rowena thought of, some sort of angel torture sigil. Castiel was sure- 

His lungs staggered for air when it stopped. Gone. Poof. Vanished. The shock burst through his body as he sharply inhaled, creating some strangled wheezing noise and everything began to function properly again. His wings throbbed still, his feathers having gone through some sort of shredder to burn like that, but feet shifted as legs braced. Finally, Castiel was supporting about half of his weight. The trembling muscles needed a bit longer before he could take anymore. 

“Cas, if you understand me, raise your head.” Sam commanded, curt in tone, and now Castiel felt the tension pressing the air as he opened his eyes to lift his head. 

All of the hunters, including Sam, had guns trained on Dean. Rowena cradled a bowl to her stomach, her other hand waiting to drop the final ingredient. Cas glanced behind him to Dean, a dim gleam surrounding the rim of his eyes replaced the magnificent shine that was once there, his face just as tense as the hunters. It took Castiel about a second to realize that Sam and the other hunters might have seen his and Dean’s interaction as violent chasing rather than a playful game. 

“Okay Michael,” Sam sneered out the name, glaring at the winged man behind Cas. “So go ahead, you said you’d release Cas. Time to follow through.” 

Dean leaned further into Cas, tight heavy breaths ghosting over Cas’s neck. “Dude, Cas, can you stand? Like, for more than a minute?” 

“I believe so.” Cas swallowed thickly, his voice rougher than normal, before shifting to support all of his weight. Dean cautiously released him and pulled back his wings, the feathers brushing over his in a way Cas couldn’t identify as mere support or as a sign of friendship. Dean’s words and actions often confused Cas, though he needed to focus his thoughts on the priority. 

Cas’s first step, to his shame, lurched him forward as a cool and nauseating rush of blood swarmed his head and stomach. A blood rush, he hasn’t had one of those since his human days. Stilling for a moment to regain his balance, Cas only swayed slightly when he continued over to Sam. He couldn’t resist the urge to glare at the sigil, now broken, that caused him all this pain. 

“Sam-” 

“Cas, what the hell did he do to you?” Sam hissed, throwing a pointed look at Dean. “Has he been trying to recruit you? Torture you? Like Naomi?” 

Castiel locked his jaw, ignoring the others’ looks and staring Sam dead in the eye. “Dean healed my wings, there is no Michael to recruit me.” 

“No way my son has wings Castiel. No way.” Mary glanced at Dean, shaking her head and flexing her grip on the gun. 

“Look,” Castiel’s wings twitched slightly when he tried to lift them, yet they stubbornly laid limp and pathetic behind him. “I won’t lie, I cannot give a reason as to what has happened to Dean. Yet he must have expelled Michael, Michael would not attempt to catch me. That has to be Dean.” 

Sam sighed and frowned. “I want to believe that too Cas, but-” 

“I can prove it.” 

Charlie huffed, “No way, otherwise, why weren’t you shouting that at us, like, five minutes ago?” 

Castiel’s chest tightened, lungs constricted around his heart, and his core drew up to stiffen harder than stone. His eyes slid over to Charlie in disdain before darting over to the ruin angel sigil, his focus simply trying to keep his breathing even before he continued. 

“That sigil kept me from testing, it took quite the toll.” 

“I’ll say,” Rowena arched an eyebrow at him, “I’m surprised you haven’t been whisked toCentral America, or even to Argentina. I strengthened that sigil myself.” 

Sam leaned in, suspicious eyes narrowing at him. “Can you really Cas? Can you prove it?” 

Without missing a beat, and fully aware that he couldn’t, Castiel answered. 

“Yes.” 

“And how do you plan on doing that Mr. Tispy?” Bobby grunted, yet never took his eyes off Dean. “Ask nicely?” 

“He has a point, Gadreel let me take control for his own advantages. Who’s to say Michael isn’t doing the same right now?” Sam’s jaw clenched and unclenched, furious muscles pulsing under his skin. “Look what happened to Dean. Michael, if he is gone, might be able to take over Dean even without his consent now, he obviously left some part of him behind.” 

Cas gritted his teeth, utterly lying through them. “I can scan his mind. Michael’s presence is strong, I’ll be able to detect anything that is his.” 

“With what grace dear?” Rowena shook her head as her grip tightened on the bowl. “You may still be here, but I suspect you don’t have a speck of grace left in you. You couldn’t even hear us until we broke the sigil.” 

“My wings, they’re much different now that they’re physical. I can pull the necessary grace-” 

Ketch huffed, “How convenient.” 

“-from my wings and that will hurt.” Castiel glared at Ketch. “I might not be able to stay conscious long once I’m done.” 

As it is, Castiel was having a hard time staying conscious currently. The sigil may be broken, but its effects lingered like a heavy smoke in his body. If all the pressure and tension that has been building for the last few weeks weren’t all coming to a point right now, Castiel would definitely have collapsed by now. He had balance only because his wings gave him some stability if nothing else. 

Sam nodded once before looking to Dean. “I swear Michael, if you try anything on Cas then that’s it.” 

Cas wobbled over to Dean, Sam’s unfinished threat hanging in the air, taunting him. No big deal, Castiel has pulled off a lie before and lying was Dean’s expertise, they could do this. They’ve done a lot harder, so this will be much easier than having to kill Amara. What’s the saying? Like a piece of cake?Piece of pie? 

Dean took the last few steps to Cas, and Cas tried to convey his gratitude in his eyes while he brought up his hands. His arms trembled and Cas closed his eyes to focus. His fingers glided over Dean’s face, cradling his head, hopefully convincing the others while he supported himself. Cas certainly lacked the grace to follow through with his lies and his wings, which only existed to tell him how much agonizing pain they’re still in, definitely had no grace in them either. 

So Cas quickly suppressed the surprised gasp that caught in his throat when he was met with more than just skin. Dean’s soul, Cas vaguely felt ashamed for not recognizing it as the energy sooner, pushed through into his fingertips. A wave washed over Cas, intoxicated with Dean, and the unconscious part was about to happen soon. Overwhelmingly Dean, tight coiled energy with deep currents of anxiety that first tried to hide from him. 

Cas did his best to soothe him, and that ended up much easier than suspected. The energy boon that used to spill over from Dean, first downsized from Dean healing his wings, now gone. While that sigil might not have had such a profound effect on Dean as it did him, Dean wasn’t immune to it. He was tired, despite the frantic quivers that went through his soul, Dean was tired. Maybe not to the point of Cas, who was convinced that he had only a minute or two once the situation resolved itself, but Cas suspected there would be a reckoning if Dean got anything less than ten hours of sleep, despite his four hour rule. 

Yet as Dean’s soul continued to flow by Cas, he found no signs of angel grace. Not even grace that would resonate with Dean. Only Dean’s soul flowed, maybe different from a normal soul, more celestial. Souls can’t impose themselves though, can’t push themselves into other beings, can’t pull out an angel’s wings then heal them, not without burning the soul in the process, yet Dean’s soul radiated with no presence of angel grace and completely intact. 

“It’s okay Dean,” He gently pulled his hands away, muttering softly. “Don’t worry. You’ll come back. I’ll make sure you get back to the, get back home without opposition.” 

Dean sighed and sent a flash of a smile to Cas before Cas turned to face Sam, tension melting away from the air. One step forward though and his eyes began to blur, shoulders dropping in delayed fatigue. Another step and suddenly Cas was spinning. Or the ground was spinning. Everything was spinning. So much spinning and tipping back and forth. 

“It’s Dean!” The words punched out of him, desperate as he stepped left and then right to keep upright. “No Michael! Only Dean! Onl- Only-” 

Castiel felt his eyes roll in blackness, but he never did feel the ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap on the first chapter! 
> 
> Now things are going to slow down, hence the 'slow burn' tag, but there's no rush to jump right in. Relax and enjoy the plights of the winged-angel-men.


	2. Ruffled Feathers

Something wasn’t right. 

A sixth sense perhaps, a weight in the air, whatever it is, it nudged at Castiel’s mind. Whispered for him to wake, that something’s off. Something’s wrong. A sense that only grew, nesting in his stomach. His guts stiffened, unsure and not awake enough to properly react. The mere fact Castiel was asleep sent an alarm through him, something must have happened. 

Pulling himself out of the fuzz, the static that warped his senses and thoughts, the first thing Castiel noticed was the warmth. It pressed down all over him, not entirely unwelcome, but verging close to the point of suffocation. Blankets perhaps piled on top of him, brushing over the skin of his face. It took Castiel another second to figure out that the wet oppressiveness comes not from the warmth, but the sweat that his vessel must have produced in his sleep. His clothes stuck to skin in a few places in a way that Castiel found quite unpleasant, and something dug into the bottom of his back. 

On instinct, Castiel reached out to his grace to quell the reaction and restore the body temperature to its proper setting without the need to sweat anymore. Yet nothing came, nothing but a mere ember to tell him that he was still an angel, but not one speck of usable grace remained. It would take months until he had anything to use, not with Heaven soaking up so much grace to simply keep running. 

Castiel wormed underneath the warmth, blinking rapidly to try and find a way to free himself. He inhaled sharply, tinged with disappointment, at how long it took for his eyes to focus. Sam and the others must have laid him on a cheap motel bed, and he’s been unconscious long enough for it to be night. That must have been what happened. The reason why his eyes strained to see in the nonexistent light. Why there was something under his back that attempted to be soft yet extraordinarily firm instead. 

With that conclusion in mind, the idea of drifting back off appeared in Castiel’s head. Perhaps he was incorrect, nothing was off or wrong around him. Given how long it took Castiel to figure what happened, perhaps some more sleep is what his vessel needs. He reached to grab the blanket and readjust it to- 

Feathers. Castiel felt feathers. 

They must be absolutely huge as they brushed over his face. So spectacularly soft, distinct yet lush. Awed, Castiel traced the feathers, deciding them to be secondary coverts, the smaller marginal coverts that ghosted over his face. The darkness rendered Castiel blind, but Castiel wanted to see what the feathers truly looked like this close. If the tips changed color, or perhaps streaked with a similar shade or something vivid. Maybe the feathers were spotted in some way, freckled feathers. 

A, belated, surprised cough burst from his lungs when memories rushed at him all at once. Dean. Dean! Michael was gone, they had Dean back! How didn’t matter, only that he was back! The bunker, Sam, Jack, Mary, none of them were the same without Dean, drab and incongruent with each other. Yet with Dean back, it’ll be good again. No more thoughts and worries about the apocalypse Michael would rain down in Dean’s body, because Dean’s now safe and Michael’s gone. Everything was right again, the way it’s supposed to be. 

Except for the feathers of course. 

Dean must not be awake for him to be like this, since he barely even hugged the people he loved. Dean’s wing, which brought forth so many questions that pestered Castiel, blanketed over him, compressed him. Only his feet weren’t covered, but they still sweated judging from the urge Castiel had to pop off the shoes. 

Absentmindedly, Castiel did kick off his shoes as he took into consideration about his situation again. The bed possibly has been ruled out, so Castiel must be laying on his own wings. A realization that struck him mostly on how he forgot about that. He wormed a hand around to the back of his waist to take out the flask and he rested on his wings more comfortably. Despite all the weight they’re under and the thrashing they took from that angel sigil, his wings must have simply gone numb. Especially with that thrashing in mind, Castiel wasn’t about to complain about the lack of feeling. 

A rumble reverberated through him, and with the unmistakable growl of an engine starting up, Castiel sighed at the fact he was laying in the truck bed. The others must have decided to go back to the bunker after, seeing how big Dean’s and Castiel’s wings are, storing him and Dean back here. 

The truck crept forward and thought of traffic passed his mind before Castiel decided he really didn’t care. Dean stayed unconscious through this whole thing, completely fine with the situation, so it couldn’t hurt to sleep again. While it was a bit stuffy underneath Dean’s massive wing, it was also warm and much better than being exposed to the wind and drag once the truck starts going faster speeds. In fact, it might be best to fall asleep before those fast speeds happen, to be oblivious to the jolts that will inevitably hit the truck bed. 

Yet true sleep evaded Castiel, at first irksome and then full-blown frustrating when the urge to shift and shuffle and move began to slither into his limbs. Yet movement in this space was severely limited. Besides, Castiel had wings to consider now. If he were to turn onto his side, that would mean he would be putting a lot of tension onto the inside wing of whatever side he turned to. Even if he did decide such a move was worth it, what if he was less satisfied with that position? It would only prompt more turning which would wake up Dean and that was something Castiel definitely wanted to avoid, or at least be asleep for. 

Whatever caused the traffic jam must be behind them now, because just as he assumed, a few jolts shook the bed every so often and a thin vibration continuously trailed down the metal now that they have sped up. Sighing, the prospect of sleep fading away, Castiel decided to be grateful that another one of his assumptions turned out to be true. Dean’s wing did shelter him from all of the wind. 

Though Castiel risked to adjust Dean’s wings down slightly, enough to for light slip down to his eyes. An opportunity to see he gladly took. 

The darkness lessened, but Castiel couldn’t appreciate the full color of it. If he’s remembering right, the inside of Dean’s wings seemed to be a pale sunshine like color, but perhaps it’s darker. Cas could see the freckles adorned all over them, the same void black as the streaks on the back of Dean’s wing. However, these dots were so small that if Dean lifted his wing up two feet away from Castiel, he wouldn’t be able to see them even if it was fully lit. 

The urge to move hit Cas again, but not to find a better resting position, but to let in more light to see more of Dean’s feathers. As of now, Castiel could only really examine the underside of the covert feathers. The back of Dean’s wings looked different and Cas would be willing to bet that there were tons of small differences throughout Dean’s wings if he had the chance to see them. Oh, if only Castiel had the chance to inspect them all. 

For now though, he decided to run his fingers through Dean’s feathers. He started slowly, still worried about waking Dean, as he glided his hand up the feathers and Cas revered in the astonishing silky yet slightly fluffy touch from the feathers. 

He couldn’t help himself, the feathers were just so alluringly soft, and pushed his hand deeper into the wing before dragging his hand back down. Castiel froze momentarily when Dean shifted, he knew an awake Dean would not appreciate this, but chuckled mutely as Dean relaxed with a content sigh, pushing his wing into Cas’s hand. 

So with a growing smile, Cas kept stroking the wing without any more cautions. He knew that Dean would never admit it, maybe if someone’s life was on the line, that he liked Castiel doing this. He also knew he might never get the opportunity to do this again, and Cas suddenly became grateful that he didn’t fall back asleep. Instead, Cas could stroke these wonderfully soft and delicate feathers that Dean would never allow if he was awake. 

Castiel wondered drowsily if petting a cat was similar. He only pet one once, but at the time he never actually felt the world around him. His grace, untattered by the fall that has yet to happen,shielded Cas from all physical sensations unless he chose to feel. Yet most of the time it was easier to not feel, instead focusing on all the fairly new emotions that jittered and often overwhelmed him. 

Hannah put it best, Castiel remembered what she said. That the human things she felt on Earth, the hungers and the passions, weren’t for angels. The words aggravated Cas, proving her point in a way, since he cherishes almost everything human, but he didn’t let it show, disproving her also. It might be different for him, since Jimmy’s within Heaven now, only Cas has claim and control of this vessel. 

Cas continued to card his fingers through Dean’s feathers, slowly and still lavishing in the feel, when he remembered letting Lucifer into this vessel. It terrified him at first. His plan was to leave once Lucifer entered, find another vessel then rejoin Sam and Dean so they would know. A plan that instead left him trapped and helpless as he tried to escape, then depressed to know another failure. Castiel was an angel then, but it was the most human he’s ever felt. Such an utter lack of control and overwhelming fear, it made him glad Jimmy was no longer bound to this vessel with him. 

He huffed, the sudden thought of if he was similarly bound to this vessel crossing his mind. He can’t test it, even if he did have his grace, because then the body would be dead, or worse, soulless, and that would make it impossible to have consent to reenter. Once Castiel’s grace restores itself enough, perhaps he will just to see if he can. He won’t leave entirely though, after all, Jimmy sacrificed himself to let Castiel enter, and Castiel refused to ever let that sacrifice go in vain. 

Yet perhaps he couldn’t, would that really be so bad? Castiel wiggled a bit before stroking Dean again, disturbed by the thought. For millennia, Castiel has been purely been a force of celestial light and energy with a form that burned the eyes of anyone who tried to look, whether he wanted that or not. After the fall, most angels did prefer to take vessels, mainly to distract themselves from their burnt wings, but that was a choice. Angels were, and always will be, a wavelength of power even if they can’t fly the same way. 

Yet it’s not like Castiel hasn’t been contained to only this body before, he knew he couldn’t leave it when he was a human or when he was using stolen grace. His being tied to this vessel as its form, to leave it without another form would’ve surely meant death at the time. 

Another question, and part of Cas wished these stupid questions would stop, popped up. If he left this vessel, would he also leave behind all of its feelings? When Hannah left her vessel, it seemed that she also left the human feelings. Last time Castiel left this vessel, it was before he gained a wide range of emotions, and then he returned very soon. Yet he remembered, remembered how cold he became to Dean once again afterwards. 

Cas shivered at the memory. If he just had kept his doubts stronger, refused to fall in line. If Castiel had trusted the emerging instincts within him instead of conforming with Michael, then he would not have released Sam and so many things would have played out differently. Instead, Castiel tried to push them down to appease the other angels and Dean had to revive them again. That was the last time Cas left this vessel. 

Never again, the thought streaked through Cas with formidable conviction. He would never give this vessel up if it meant letting go of all the passions and hungers that disturbed Hannah. For all eternity he would stay shackled to it, to the flesh and blood, rather than give up all the feelings. Even if he still had his emotions outside his vessel, if they were only dulled, that would still be too high of a price to pay. 

Sighing, Cas dragged his hand out of the feathers to rub at his face. He supposed he didn’t wake up with much energy, but the thoughts drained a lot of what he did have. Dean grunted in his sleep, his wing pushing down on Cas. Cas chuckled, lifting his head slightly against the press of the silky feathers. At least Dean’s mostly with him, usually also facing his own strange and morally ambiguous situation. 

Dean hummed contently when Cas filed his hand down his feathers again. The wing situation, that’s one he and Dean will have to face together. Already they had to be tossed in the back of a pickup because of their wings, and if they don’t have a way to hide them, many more problems will arise. Not to mention the sheer curiosity and concern others will have on how and why their wings are physical in the first place. 

Especially on why Dean has wings. Cas knew that the wings must be some byproduct of killing Michael. Perhaps when Dean killed him the power of the archangel’s grace infused with Dean’s soul. It would explain why Cas never felt any angel grace coming from Dean, just an energy, that while celestial, not exactly normal. 

Although, when has anything ever been normal with the Winchesters involved? 

Now that he thought about it, Dean didn’t react to wings, and flying, the way he would have expected. Castiel also didn’t react the way he should, playing tag should have been after telling the others Michael’s dead. Yet there was a significant rush of energy, and overwhelming relief, that probably affected their decision-making abilities. It might also depend on whether Dean was conscious or not before Charlie broke that binding sigil, given time to accept the idea of wings. 

The sigil, what a strange sigil that was. Including the one on Dean’s chest, both blood base and extremely intricate, Cas had never seen the likes of them before. He made a mental note to ask Rowena about it when he gets the chance. 

Cas’s hand stilled as the temperature dropped around his feet, noting that night’s falling. Dean’s wing has kept him warm all throughout the drive, did Dean have anything to cover him? Dean didn’t even have a shirt last Cas saw, and since dusk is upon them now, he could be exposed to the night’s air as well as whatever winds one could feel in the back of pickup. 

Slowly, reassuringly stroking Dean’s wing, Cas shifted and tried to twist. Dean’s feathers blocked all of his view still, they still brush across his face every so often, but he lifted Dean’s wing to change that. Thankfully, the limb was pliant. Unfortunately, that didn’t make it any less heavy. 

Yet Cas managed to sneak a peek at Dean. As opposed to Cas, he laid on his stomach with his arm as a pillow. His other wing folded over his backside, unable to go anywhere with the truck-wall on the other side, and that would shield most his back from the winds. 

He dropped Dean’s wing, the cool draft refreshed his flushed body, but he welcomed the warmth back again. It really wasn’t that uncomfortable. With his wings providing a modest comfort behind him and with Dean’s wing as a blanket, Cas decided this arrangement provide much more comfort the long drives in a car seat. 

Concern quickly followed up Cas’s contentment, Dean is laying on the hard and cold metal with not even a shirt in between. Cas flexed his right wing, the limb heavy but much more cooperative than last time he tried to move his wings. Although wiggling the limb towards Dean, trying to get it underneath him, proved to Cas that the limb wasn’t quite at full strength. 

Cas stroked Dean’s wing with his left hand, needing to work his right to Dean’s chest. Careful not to grip too tight and wake him, Cas pushed him up until he could slide his wing underneath before laying him back down gently over his feathers. Cas knew he couldn’t get his wing all the way underneath Dean without waking him, but Cas felt a ripple of satisfaction regardless. 

Only for that satisfaction to pause when Dean reacted to the new presence beneath him. Grumbling sleepily, he shifted and lifted himself briefly, a perfect opportunity for Cas to slide his wing all the way underneath him. Pride of his accomplishment grew a pleased smile as he dragged his right hand back up Dean’s wing. 

Only for that pride to stutter to a stop though when instead of relaxing onto his wing, like how Cas assumed, Dean loosely grabbed a handful of feathers. The nerves yelped and fired to Cas, who was unsure if it was a plea to make Dean release him or simply a strong reaction from the new, and clearly sensitive, feathers. Either way, he stayed perfectly still when Dean murmured incoherently and used his grip to pull Cas’s wing down, Cas’s heart responded violently to that and a blush burned on his face, so Dean could plunge his face into the top of Cas’s wing, where the thicker underlining feathers were. 

Dean, completely unaware of the stunned state he left Cas in, nudged his wing down into Cas’s hand, which froze much like the rest of Castiel. 

Sucking in a staggered breath, Cas stroked Dean again, his hand shaking a bit. Dean could often be unresponsive, or simply doesn’t care, about the feelings of the people around him, but his unconscious self took it a step farther. Since Dean has yet to release his grip on his feathers and they buzzed with. . . something. Cas was still painfully unsure what to make of it. It didn’t feel bad, Dean had only loosely grabbed the feathers, but that didn’t make it relaxing. The sensation reminded him of when Dean first saw him after coming back from the Empty, the hug almost painful yet something he didn’t want to let go of either. 

Yes, Castiel could empathize with the other angels at how difficult it was to experience human emotions. 

Thankfully Dean’s face in his feathers didn’t provoke as intense of a reaction. His breath, however, did. It breezed and ruffled his feathers, sending goosebumps over his skin in a maddening contradiction of pleasure and uncomfortableness. Dean breathed on him and he wanted it to stop and last forever. In the end though, Cas stamped it as a good sensation; mainly because he had no choice currently. His current awkwardness might simply stem from the fact it’s new to Cas. 

Slowly, Cas relaxed and, for a reason he’s not sure of himself, his wing curled up and around Dean. His primary feathers skirted and brushed along the inside of Dean’s wing, snuggly wedged when Dean’s pressed down to trap it. To both Cas’s happiness and confusion, Dean returned the favor. The large wing, black when the little light he had faded away, stretched and wrapped around Cas’s side. 

With the wing pressed up against him tighter, Cas couldn’t revel in the soft feathers anymore, but Cas didn’t mind. He was warm, snug, and decently tired from his thoughts and the new sensations from his wings. Dean’s fistful of feathers and breath still made him confused, yet he was content to pass the feelings off as safe and comforting as his eyelids drifted shut. 

So far, that has been the first time Cas fell asleep smiling. 

The very first thing Cas did upon waking up was groan. 

Frustration prickled in his bones when the heavy bang of the tailgate dropping jolted the blissful oblivion out of Cas. He was not ready to be awake again. He needed more rest. He needed not to be awake. The world must put up with him needing to sink down into sleep again. 

“Aw, look at that. Two angels sleeping together.” Cas scoffed at Bobby, before he twisted his head to the side into Dean’s wing and scrunched his eyes in a futile attempt to shut out the world once again. 

“Come on, Cas, Dean,” Sam smacked his then Dean’s leg, and a wisp of air over his socks reminded him that he kicked his shoes off at some point. “We’re back at the bunker.” 

“What?” Dean’s voice growled as his body shifted slowly, not typical of the tense Winchester. He must really need sleep too, or else he would have snapped into alertness by now while probably trying to reach for a gun. 

“Bunker. Here. Now. Come on guys, you can go to sleep immediately if you want. Just get out of the truck.” 

Cas teetered on the brink of snapping at Sam, that he was perfectly comfortable under Dean’s wing and didn’t mind at all if Dean slept on his. Castiel couldn’t conceive any reason of import that he had to get up right now. What would be the problem if he went back to sleep instead? Doesn’t Sam always gripe about the lack of sleep Dean gets anyway? 

Then Dean violently twisted and whipped up, not only startling Cas, but leaving him terribly cold as well. He glared up at Dean’s shocked face, Cas’s feathers bristling in bitterness at not only Dean’s warmth abandoning him, but the mere fact he was awake to suffer through it. 

“Cas?” Dean blinked a few times and glanced around while Cas leaned forward to shove his feet into his shoes. Why did he even wear dress shoes in the first place? If his grace does take a long time to recover, then- 

Dean huffed, almost an inaudible puff of air. “What the fuck?” 

Cas froze, suddenly very much awake as his mind whirled at the simple three words. Cas was expecting some sort of curse when Dean realized that they had, unintentionally, slept together, Cas could take that. Yet the astonished, utterly confused whisper not holding a drop of the usual brashness, chilled Cas to the bone, realizing that Dean’s memories are either really slow, faulty, or not even there. 

None of which boded well if anyone had any lingering doubts if Michael’s still in Dean. 

“Sam, what a great idea.” His heart pumped urgently as Cas stood and wrapped a wing around Dean’s. “A bed would be much more comfortable. Thank you for telling us we’ve arrived.” 

Cas ushered Dean down off the truck, his face awe struck as he stared as his and Cas’s wings before turning to look down at the dried blood sigil still mostly on his chest. An awe that Cas couldn’t rely on that lasting long, the Winchesters had great reflexives and a superb ability to react to new situations. Dean might be slow on the uptake now, probably because the golden wings he’s seeing belongs to him, but within a minute that could all change. They needed to leave. 

“Wait, Cas-” Dean stumbled along, earning a few strange looks from the others. “Sam, Mom-” 

“I’ll explain everything in a moment Dean, ” Cas hissed at him, forcing Dean to turn to him. “ But right now, you’ll make a tense situation worse. Just trust me on this. ” 

“ Cas? Is everything alright with Dean?” Cas only turned his head to Sam, nodding before continuing out of the garage. 

“Nothing to be worried about Sam, Dean’s simply out of sync with himself.” It technically wasn’t a lie. “He’ll be fine after he’s rested properly again. I’m just taking him to his room.” 

He ignored Mary’s calls, a bit of guilt eating at him, but at the sudden tensing of Dean’s wings underneath his, he couldn’t be bothered with guilt. Cas instead picked up his pace, hoping to at least get Dean as far as possible before he demanded answers. 

Dean, stubborn Dean, slowed but thankfully didn’t stop. “Okay Cas, what the hell is going on? Care to explain-” 

“Cas! Dean! You’re back-” Jack all but appeared in front of them, his huge smile falling as he tilted his head. “-and you both have wings now? Sam was right, I don’t think I would have believed that if he told me on the phone.” 

“Yes Jack, it’s a very interesting story.” The words were fumbling out of Cas’s mouth, underlining fears at what Dean might have now and what his reaction will be swirled fast and tight in Cas’s stomach. “Why don’t you ask Mary? We still need to rest, you understand, right Jack?” 

Jack's eyebrows slowly furled together, eyes darting between him and Dean, to wings to the sigil still painted on Dean’s chest. Cas remembered, somewhat belatedly, that his wing remained curled over Dean’s in a tense and possessive manner. Despite that it was the only physical touch between them, and Cas was more than comfortable with it in the truck bed, Cas dropped his wing and resisted the urge to shuffle under the rising heat of his embarrassment. 

“It’s at least a ten hour drive. Didn’t you sleep then?” 

“Yes,” Cas made eye contacted with Dean’s, his eyes conflicted and confused, before Cas tilted his head past Jack. “But it wasn’t enough. Please Jack, we really must rest.” 

Again, guilt ate him for brushing past Jack, and again, he didn’t worry about it as Dean followed him. Hopefully Jack didn’t become suspicious enough to enter Dean’s room, because Cas was sure whatever sight he laid eyes on would not be one of rest. 

Cas opened the door to Dean’s room for him, entering in behind him and shutting it immediately. He turned, ready to say something, when his mind stuttered to halt. Castiel now stood in Dean’s room, the very room he stood in front of for weeks but never went in. Yet he didn’t even think about that just a moment ago and now he’s in, the room exactly how he knew it would look like. Minus the frustrated winged Dean. 

“Well Cas?” Dean snapped at Cas with wings drawn tight at his back. “You gonna explain or just stand there?” 

Cas swallowed, satisfying the urge to scratch the back of his head. “How much do you remember?” 

“The fact I’m part fucking pigeon is a surprise! Care to enlighten me or what?” Dean’s jaw clenched and relaxed, yet his glare wavered for a second before returning to Cas. 

“Dean, I assure you, the wings were necessary to kill Michael.” Cas hit the sweet spot, Dean’s anger breaking as both wings and shoulders slumped down. “Do you remember that?” 

“No, not really. But uh, Michael? He’s really truly dead, the ain’t-coming-back type dead? Not just gone?” Dean shifted, regaining his composure again, but thankfully has deflated significantly. 

Cas nodded; lips pursed in thought on what to do next. He could tell Dean, but he’ll inevitably skip out or glaze over parts that he fears Dean won’t want to hear. Besides, that wouldn’t solve the problem that no one currently knows how exactly Michael was defeated. Just a couple of strange sigils, Dean with wings, and an angelic omen as their only evidence. 

“Okay, how? How did you guys track down Michael and not get blasted to dust? And how does that freaking relate to you and I now having wings.” Cas tilted his head at Dean, stepping past his personal space boundaries. 

“It was mainly you. . .” Dean’s head recoiled back, and prepared to snap something, before Cas grabbed his face with both hands. “Now, do you feel anything? Anything strange or something like a surge?” 

Cas, graceless and all but human, couldn’t force himself into Dean’s mind in order to fish for the suppressed memories. However, if he could coax Dean into making the connection then he can not only ease Dean, but search for his lost memories. Perhaps Dean believes himself to still be human, just one with wings, and therefore suppressed the memories that happened during his ‘birthing’ so to speak. 

“Uh yeah, but can you, like, stop? Can’t you do your normal forehead touch thing?” Dean attempted to back off, but Cas, who currently understands his wings much better, cocooned them together. If they don’t do this now, Cas couldn’t imagine them being able to any other time. 

“Dean, relax.” He lowered his volume, and despite the fierce tensing of Dean's jaw doing the exact opposite of what he said, Cas tried again. “What do you feel?” 

“It’s like the Mark of Cain,” Dean’s words rushed out and his eyes darted away from Cas’s. “But like, not as murderous. It’s just there, waiting. I-” 

“Shh, it’s just excess energy.” Dean’s face crinkled and- “From the spell Dean. It’s neutral, it’ll follow your command. Have it come to me.” 

Dean’s eyes met Cas’s, and the green orbs hardened. “Energy? I don’t like that Cas. I’m sure there’s some tool here that can extract it-” 

“No, I do not trust any tool to do this.” Cas’s wings tightened over Dean’s in slight panic;Dean mustn’t be aware of his lie. “Just call it forth, I promise it won’t hurt you Dean, and I’ll bring it into me.” 

“What about after that?” 

“It will either be naturally converted into grace or will be smothered as my grace recovers, either way is more effective than letting it sit inside you.” 

Dean raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Thought you said it won’t hurt me?” 

“It won’t.” Cas sighed sharply, wishing he could actually expel his frustrations like that. “Yet it can become volatile in certain situations, like if you got hexed for instance. It would surge by nature to ward off the foreign force, which could lead to you panicking or becoming distracted during a fight.” 

“’Kay, ‘kay, just give me a sec.” Dean closed his eyes and when the tip of Dean’s energy, Dean’s soul, brushed against his fingers, it was all Cas could do to not to shudder in relief. 

“Good Dean, very good. Now just push a little into me, I’ll be able to pull the rest out.” 

Dean distantly nodded, his soul energy pushing at Cas’s fingers, pushing and pushing until, finally, it got through. Cas eagerly grabbed a hold of it and yanked, Dean gasping far away. While he said nothing and continued to coil Dean’s soul with his being, Cas pulsed out his apologies. Yet Dean and this entire bunker wouldn’t wait until Cas’s grace has been restored enough to know the truth, which leaves this as the only option. 

Cas sought out and sifted through the memories, leaving Dean some privacy despite the fact Cas is going through his soul, narrowing down on the most recent. Michael memories reeked with a pungent odor, depressed and contorted in some weird fashion, the memories not true experiences at all. So close to this reeking area was the memories Cas needed, which made it vividly clear why Dean would’ve repressed these memories right alongside the others. 

The first one shined brighter than burning magnesium, archangel grace dying in a flash, before suddenly becoming a vivid picture of a black robed figure ripping out a spear. No pain from the injury came from the experience, but Dean's soul broke out with a rampage that demons would tremble at. The spear had weakened Michael, so Dean roared up and grappled with him for control. 

Memories blinked in and out while they all vibrated with screams of hate and pain. Dean clawed at Michael, his stolen memories pulsing unnaturally with Dean’s, the spear somehow disorientating the archangel. Various clips from the angel tablet fluttered before Cas, fleeting and short, but somehow enough. 

Holy oil, blood of a blessed pig, a firstborn’s tears, and other ingredients flashed and dozens of different sigils, most gone before he could even see them, sprung alongside them. Until two sigils finally made themselves known. The sigil on the ground, an impervious cage to whatever was inside if the blood was bound to it, and the one still mostly on Dean’s chest, a symbol made from mostly holy oil meant to melt and burn an angel’s grace, even an archangel if given enough time for it to work. 

The next memory blared with savage determination, and when Michael tried to take flight, Dean struck at him. He flew with a crazed and desperate precision, getting his supplies before Michael crashed landed them both in the plains of North Dakota. 

In a fight with Dean Winchester, backed against the wall with everything to lose, Cas was impressed, but not surprised, that Dean mixed the ingredients together and drew the sigils and fought off Michael within what seems only about seven minutes. 

His memories faltered significantly though once he finished the sigil on his chest, Michael crying out with all the insanity a glorious and praised Archangel of God after being bested by a mortal can. By the time Dean finished the ground sigil and stepped inside, his body quaked underneath him. If it were any other man, his body would have surely exploded before Dean could light a match and drop it on the sigil. 

Cas jolted when the next memory, just a blink of darkness, starts with Dean unfurling his wings. His first real sight showed Castiel slumped on his knees, panting and looking at him with utter dejection and sorrow. 

Despite the sudden self-conscious streak slicing through him, Cas dug at the memory deeper. It didn’t seem too different than Dean’s other memories, yet it felt more solid and vivid than even the preMichael memories. The first official mark of Dean’s different nature. 

A flare of panic spiked through Dean as he saw these memories too, and Cas hurriedly sent out waves of reassurances that his soul, while a bit more celestial, didn’t change or burn off any part of Dean. Not one speck of soul of Dean’s soul burned, just melded with Michael’s dying grace- or so Cas thought. Yet Michael the being, even if his grace survived somehow in a strange way through Dean, was well and truly dead. That was a certainty. 

Cas now had the answer he desired and by all means should’ve pulled out at that point, Dean could follow the memories on his own now on what happened next. Yet he peeked, he peeked at Dean’s next memory. An irrefutable need to know why Dean ripped his wings into the physical world and then healed him, especially when Castiel could feel how his massive and wonderful energy boon withered drastically afterwards. 

The memory dripped with regret and guilt, Dean’s eyes, amplified by the celestial energy flowing off him, caught sight of Castiel’s charred wings tucked away as mere light waves usually too faint to be detected by anything other than an angel. 

A remorse, a deep stabbing remorse twisted into Cas as the memory played out. As Castiel screamed and writhed in front of Dean as he pulled his wings out. A horrible shame crying from the whole experience that screeched to its highest point when Castiel finally said his first coherent words to Dean, empty hollowed words that somehow sounded wistful as much as it did sorrowful- as if Cas was spending his last moments thinking if things could have played out into a happy ending. 

_“ Goodbye Dean.”_

Memories quaked with tension as Cas’s wings grew back to life, a jittering and a wholehearted glee shuddering through Dean when Cas’s wings snapped out and glistened in the sun as if the black feathers held stars. From there a certain giddiness burst forth to savor the moment of things going right , going right for the first time in a long time, and childish excitement soon ensnared very part of Dean. 

Cas pulled away from Dean, his soul condensing again, and grew guilty at viewing such profound memories, yet Dean’s soul drifted with him. It stiffened and shuffled, struck with shock, leaning towards Cas’s- Castiel’s being for comfort. Without the mind, Cas knew souls reacted heavily on emotions, that’s why spirits always go vengeful no matter how good their intentions were at staying behind. So he really shouldn’t be shocked when Dean’s soul curled into him, only to seek to comfort of course, and Cas really shouldn’t be so pleased when Dean’s soul relaxed, nestled next to the essence of Cas. 

Not until Cas soothed and reassured Dean as time seemed to slow and relax with them, when Dean’s soul finally eased. Dean did ease onto Cas instead of off, which Cas distantly recognized as a problem, but Cas would be lying if he said he wanted Dean to leave. His presence pressed against Cas, right next to him and not simply his grace, in a way that ingrained into his being he would carry for the rest of his life. 

He realized how astronomically intimate this was, but just like with the feathers, Cas held this in the highest regard and wanted to make it last. Weeks past with all his thoughts regarding Dean ending in death or some form of tragedy. Yet this, this was blissful. No one died, Michael didn’t break Dean’s mind or body, no cities got razed, and Dean leaned into him like he missed Cas as much as Cas missed him. 

So Cas could hardly be blamed for indulging himself next to the righteous soul, such a magnificent soul. After all, Dean could leave, Cas let go of him, but he chose to stay. Cas may have felt a beaming. . . affection, some sort of intense warmth entangled with a possessiveness, yet Cas never forced Dean to stay. Entirely Dean’s choice. . . 

Cas dozed, a pleased relaxed sensation coming over him. Peace. That’s what it was. It enveloped him and he shuddered, tension exiled out, before he slumped into Dean. Cas relished in his golden soul, tinged with a hum, a soul that’s finally back home. Falling, Cas fell into it, fell away from the world, just falling into- 

A wave jolted them. Dean perked, growled, and flew away in a snap of a second. Cas spun and grappled for his senses, trying to fight off the dreamlike state he was in that whined at the sudden loss. He barely got the chance to blink before Dean’s wings flared out under his, spinning him around, and the momentum threatened to bring Cas down if Dean didn’t grab his shoulders. His fingers latched onto him so tightly that the bones throbbed under them. 

Then Dean screeched. A tortuously wonderful screech that surged energy and flight through his exhausted vessel. An angelic cry brimmed with power and emotion, meant to rally garrisons and strike mortals to their knees. There were no words, yet the air seethed with intention. Dean screeched and objects trembled on the desk as Dean laid dominance over the space. 

Cas shook himself out of it, registering that Sam and Mary collapsed against the door. Clutching their ears, they bunched into fetal position and Cas acted. 

He snapped his wings out, breaking Dean’s steel grip, and twirled around to face him, Dean’s eyes burning green. A menacing contraction of colors, green glowing with life and the dark dried up blood painted on Dean’s chest. Cas’s instinct to pierce the own air with his own angelic cry died when his grace didn’t exist to support such an action, and the nest instinct took over. 

“Dean! Par geh zorge!” His wings arched up higher, demanding that Dean listened to him. “Etharzi!” 

Dean’s screech ended with a growl, yet his energy pulsed through his wings before Dean quieted. He still had that particular look, the one where Dean seemed ready snap someone’s neck, and his wings, despite being confined in this small space, stayed up and flicked back. Cas’s wings dropped, and before he entirely realized what they were doing, and they splayed out from his sides. The natural submissive pose for angels, one he hasn’t been in since rejecting Heaven. 

He cleared his throat, pushing aside the unneeded instincts. “Dean, Dean take a deep breath. Realize where you are. You are not in danger.” 

While Dean didn’t respond for a moment or two, Cas stayed at ease. Something about how Dean’s wings lowered a bit even if his face remained stoic. Then Dean closed his eyes and took a big breath of air, exhaling as he opened his eyes to show the glow gone. 

As Dean’s wings folded to his back, Cas began to pull his back only to remember that Dean couldn’t yet see his brother and mother curled on the ground. Either party had strong possibilities to react badly. So as Dean blinked and shook his head, Cas turned his head to peek behind him. Sam lifted his hands from his skull, only to grab his temple as the other hand went to support him, while Mary unfurled herself yet stayed panting on the floor. 

“Are you both alright?” Cas turned swiftly as wings expanded to shield them from Dean for just a bit longer. “Can you hear me?” 

They both looked at him with a slightly agape mouth, eyebrows scrunched in what could either be focus, confusion, pain, or a mix of all. With no grace to scan them, Cas gave them a once over with mere sight. Neither had any outward injuries nor looked to be in enough pain for a blown eardrum, so perhaps Dean won’t get too guilty and horrified for hurting his family. 

“Sam?” 

Cas’s wings sagged down and slowly furled as he bent down to Mary, keeping a wary eye on the approaching Dean. The shock on his face slowly morphing to horror as he took a gentle step forward, eyes flicking between Sam and Mary. 

“Sammy? You okay?” 

“You shouldn’t get too close to them-” 

Dean rushed and fell to his knees after Sam’s silent response, a tense look in his eyes as he reached out toward Sam. To Cas’s unfortunately true prediction, Sam skirted away from him. Sam didn’t quite glare at Dean, but heated suspicion definitely poured from his narrowed eyes. 

With a sharp inhale, Dean tried to reach out again- 

“Dean, you mustn’t blame yourself. You were startled and not yet in sync-” 

Dean glared at him, a scowl planted on his face. “Don’t you dare make excuses for me.” 

“It is the truth.” Cas grazed Mary with one of his wings, receiving a tentative smile in return. “You couldn’t even remember your last day, your instincts are all-” Cas fumbled, searching for a way Dean would understand. “Your instincts are all screwed up.” 

“Oh I see,” Dean spat, “That definitely makes up for hurting family.” 

“Dean-” 

“Don’t Cas.” Dean stood, striding for the door, before Cas stepped in his way with his wings straining to flare out, but he simply stood in front of Dean calmly. “Step aside.” 

“No.” 

His wings puffed out, begging Cas to move, and Dean huffed at him. “No?” 

“I am not moving until Sam and Mary recover and you hear it from them that they forgive you. I just got you back, there’s no way I’m letting you willingly leave.” Cas’s wings ruffled by his sides, discipline to keep them still mounting considerably. 

Dean snorted, his wings puffing out further and fists balled at his sides. “I thought I was done being a prisoner.” 

“I have only your best interests in mind.” Cas stepped up to Dean, wings trembling in barely held back anger. “Distancing yourself will not solve any problem. I know you want to leave, but I can tell you that learning how to be a new species is not something to be done alone. Let me help you.” 

Dean scowled and yet his wings abruptly folded tightly against his back, all of the feathers trying to hide behind him. A cold and stoic face replaced the angry one, however, no muscle of his relaxed. He just stared at Cas and Cas stared back. Cas narrowed his eyes further, a challenge for him to contradict. Dean, judging by the slow press of his lips together, saw the weight in Cas’s words. 

He wouldn’t look away though, he rarely did, and it was another facet of Dean that fascinated him. Dean could be horribly, irrefutably, in the wrong, yet would not break under any stare from any creature no matter how powerful. It continued to baffle Cas when he knows Dean doesn’t think very highly of himself, an esteem that seems lower than the depths of hell, yet Dean doesn’t back down as if his eyes simply know that he needs to demand respect, always. 

Eventually Dean’s face softened, and his gaze drifted to Mary as he scratched his neck while Cas closed his eyes for a second to sigh. For now at least, the situation diffused and hopefully won’t cause another problem until Cas gets a good meal and good night’s sleep in. With pressure and tension filling up his stomach as of late, Cas suspected his vessel, his body, simply waits for that to dissipate until unleashing its hunger over him. 

“Can’t you heal them?” Dean shifted and Cas glanced over to Sam and Mary. They both stood near a corner of the room, giving each other curt little gestures and looks that Cas never deciphered despite all the time he’s spent with the Winchesters, and looked back as if they didn’t quite understand the situation. 

“Can they still not hear?” Cas tilted his head at them. “Can you hear me?” 

They both stared at him and, almost at the exact same time, both frowned at him. 

“Yeah Cas, I think I gave ‘em some ear problems. Have enough juice to fix that?” 

Cas sighed, the familiar cold and weighted pressure of helplessness wrapped around his shoulders. “I am graceless and will be for the foreseeable future.” Dean took a sharp breath of air and Cas felt only gloomier when he continued. “Heaven’s been soaking up as much grace as it can.Everything’s been running smooth except for the lights, but every angel only has a sliver of grace for them to use on good days. At the bare minimum, I won’t recover any usable grace until a month, probably longer.” 

“Is that happening to me too?” Cas faced Dean, who looked far more offended at the prospect of Heaven zapping juice from him than wary of it. 

“I don’t believe so. The energy you produce isn’t grace, even if it is celestial in nature. I wouldn’t even go as far as to call you an angel.” Cas paused as Dean rolled his eyes, wiggling his wings. “No angel has a soul, the Nephilim do have angelic grace, yet you are neither. If I had to guess, from the infusion of Michael’s grace, your soul now produces excess energy. It is quite baffling.” 

“So. . .” Dean glanced down at his hands, staring at them as if they belonged to another person. “Could I heal Mom and Sam?” 

A small grin tugged at his lips. “Dean, you not only made my wings physical, but you also healed them. So yes, I’d say you certainly can heal them.” 

“Okay, yeah, but like, how? Do I just touch their foreheads and then BAM! Healed.” 

The grin expanded. “I’m afraid there’s a bit more to it than that. 

“Oh.” Dean’s shoulders drooped and his face scrunched up in a bitter frown. “I suppose we just have to wait then.” 

“Not necessarily.” Cas trod over in front of Sam and Mary, who exchanged a quizzical glance, and gestured for Dean to follow. “If you push your soul into me, I should be able to draw from your energy and heal them.” 

“Awesome.” Dean stepped to the side of Cas and faced him, closing his eyes and lips pressed together, a face that resembles the Blue Steel that Sam sometimes jokes with Dean about, in concentration. 

Cas raised his fingers to his forehead, not having to wait long for Dean’s soul to brush along his fingers. This time, Dean pushed into him much faster, and his soul hummed with eagerness to fix his family of the pain he caused. 

Again though, Cas remembered that the sigil that robbed him of the grace he soaked from Dean, did damage him as well. What was excess and what was Dean’s actual soul had no obvious difference now that it didn’t overflow out of him. Cas would be lucky to get forgiveness from Sam, much less Dean, if he accidentally burned some of Dean’s real soul to heal or get a sliver of Dean’s soul stuck in Sam, which might even be worse. That definitely qualifies as one of those ‘awkward situation’ moments. 

Yet even with those nervous thoughts, a crackle of glee snapped his spine straight and insides alight when Dean’s soul embraced his being. Last time Cas almost fell asleep, yet this time sparks zipped and zapped, and Cas ended up having no problems funneling that excess down to his other fingers pressed against Sam’s forehead. 

As Cas guided the energy through Sam, converting the energy from simple power into fully functioning inner ears, one of his smaller bubbles of tension popped. A satisfied pleasure rippled through him when Dean’s energy did not fight his command in the slightest. The stolen grace constantly burned and seethed at him, reluctantly performing for him. Even when Jack funneled his grace into him while being conceived, Cas did not control it as much as he simply stepped aside to let it flow. 

Yet Dean’s energy responded to him as if it were his own grace. Cas suspected it might have to do with the nature of the energy, or perhaps Dean just allows him to control it, but whatever the cause, it sent a deep throb of warm pride resounding through his heart. 

He moved onto Mary, cherishing the tender affection that moved through him. It made him warm and, even though such a feeling is always wrong, felt like everything was right in the world. Cas did nothing to even try to tame it, and it soon began to fill the quiet space in Cas’s mind. 

Dean trusts me, it said. A thought that wasn’t so extraordinary until it rippled from Cas into Dean. A wave of confirmation, of brazen loyalty and trust, crashed over him in response. Cas saw Dean’s grinning face, rolling his eyes at Cas as if to mock him at why he would have any doubts about it. Cas saw him, a million different memories blurring into that one, and the sudden urge to hug Dean fluttered from through him. 

Jolted by all the emotions spiraling out of control, Cas pulled away from Mary and meant to send Dean back into his body. Yet instead he gave Dean the equivalent of soul and essence hug. Purely instinctive and more of a collision than anything, Cas nestled himself into the golden warmth of Dean’s soul. He pulled away just as quickly and urged Dean out, embarrassed and suddenly unsure if he crossed a personal boundary, yet still wishing it could’ve lasted longer. 

Dean blinked at him once, twice, before he turned to Mary and Sam, who both had some level of suspicion on their faces when they regarded Dean. 

“What was that?” Sam kept his eyes on Dean, almost always on the sigil as if he expected it to come to life, yet leaned his head to Cas. “Are you sure there’s no leftover Michael in there?” 

Cas huffed, a sort of ease and slight irritation flicking in him. “Of course not Sam. I only felt the entirety of Dean’s soul, but I can’t quite rule out the possibility that I just don’t know Dean’s soul well enough to distinguish it from the presence of an archangel. Forgive me for lying to you about it before since there’s definitely a possibility of that happening.” 

Sam and Mary flinched slightly at first, before giving Cas the most incredulous look after picking up on the dry sarcasm. They gaped momentarily at each other, sharing a silent conversation with their eyes, before facing Cas and Dean again. Cas knew he needs to treat this situation with more respect, Sam and Mary have legitimate concerns, yet that part of him was buried underneath by everything that happened during his and Dean’s connection. His frustration stemmed from his broken, blissful peace. 

“Castiel-” 

Cas quickly cleared his throat, deciding not to let Mary continue with that almost scolding tone.“Dean and I weren’t in a very aware state when you entered, so when the door open, he was startled. In his new situation, Dean’s reactions are much more intense than what they once were.” 

Sam snorts, “Okay, so what? Dean dozes and a simple noise will make him burst eardrums?” 

“No, this particular reaction. . .” Cas’s mind simply went blank, words to describe what they were doing failing him as a sudden desire to conceal the knowledge to only him and Dean streaked through him. Private, he wanted it to stay private. 

Cas glanced over at Dean as his feathers ruffled unsure, but Dean thankfully took the conversation from him. “Cas was uprooting some memories for me. It left me. . .” 

“-sensitive.” Cas picked up when Dean stuttered quiet for a moment. “Especially with his transformation so raw and still being incorporated with his instincts. The power Dean exerts-” 

“Yeah, hold up there for a second.” Mary lifted her hand, words cowering away from Cas’s throat. “What exactly is Dean exerting and how?” 

Dean chuckled; a bit too tense than normal. “Aw shucks Mom, don’t you want your little boy to be an angel?” 

“In any case,” Cas intervened before Mary’s glare converts to words, “Dean’s not an angel. His soul is still perfectly intact. I have my suspicions that when Michael died, Dean’s soul consumed his leftover grace or Michael’s grace tried to escape within Dean’s soul. So while Dean is exerting a celestial energy, it is coming from his own soul, not from any remnants of Michael’s grace.” 

Mary lifted an eyebrow at him. “So Dean’s a Nephilim then?” 

“A Nephilim exists as a human soul endowed with angel grace, two separate parts joined, yet each part can exist without the other. Just look at Jack, he still has his soul despite having no grace left. Dean only has his soul. His soul is somehow generating energy which then radiates off him.” Cas gave a sidelong glance at Dean’s wings. “His wings might exist so that they could store the excess energy.” 

“Huh?” Sam scanned Dean’s wings briefly. “You think so?” 

“I know very little. Another possibility is that the wings manifested as Michael’s grace merged with Dean’s soul.” 

Sam grunts, “Very reassuring Cas.” 

“Let’s just take a step back here.” Mary folded her arms across her chest. “How did Michael die?” 

Dean smirked and tapped the sigil on his chest, “Because that sonofabitch slipped up and had another thing coming when I got my chance. I found a few sigils in his mind and fought like hell to set it all up.” 

It finally happened, where Cas saw the tension ease off their shoulders. They rest of the bunker might not be convinced, but at least Sam and Mary let go of their doubts if Michael still resided in Dean. Cas couldn’t blame them for having such doubts, not with the two large wings folded behind Dean’s back, but it was pleasing to him to watch them accept the truth. 

Sam made eye contact with both him and Mary before facing Dean, a small smile resting on his lips. “We’ll let you to it then, sleep well Dean.” 

“Uh,” Cas flickered his gaze to Dean and didn’t move towards the hallway with them. “There’s actually something I wish to further discuss with Dean.” 

Sam nodded and left, but Mary paused for another moment. “Careful Castiel, you need to take care of yourself too.” 

Then the door shut behind them. The click releasing some sort of spell on Cas. His stomach growled and his legs grumbled at all the standing still he’s been doing. The perfectly folded wings sagged a bit as Cas sighed like he’s been holding that sigh for all his millennia-long life. Perhaps despite it feeling comfortable at the time, sleeping in the truck bed might not have been the greatest for his recently winged and grace deprived body. 

“So this better not be a chick-flick thing-” 

Cas grunted, not particularly in the mood for dealing with Dean’s avoidance issues, and sat down on the closest thing near him, the bed. “Call it an investigation. I just want to confirm a few things.” 

“Well then,” Dean grabs a chair, sitting in it backwards to rest his arms on the back. “Shoot cowboy.” 

Even with the sudden tiredness, questions burned inside of Castiel. He wanted to know why Dean reacted the way he did, what he could have possibly felt for such an intense reaction towards his family. He wanted to ask what he thought of when they connected, his personal opinions on it. He yearned to know what emotions and thoughts correlated with what movements of the wings, since the limbs tend to react more instinctively than Cas was used to from other angels. Yet Cas decided to go with a less feeling based question first. 

“Do you still have access to those memories? Even the ones I didn’t uproot for you?” Cas tried to keep his back straight but ended up slouching as his wings limply unfurled behind him, feathers gliding over the mattress. 

Dean waved at the question. “Don’t worry about it, all those memories are good to go.” 

“Did you understand me?” Dean just looked at him. “When I spoke Enochian?” 

“Kinda, I guess.” Dean shrugged, “Like, in the moment, it was all so intense. I understood what you were getting at, peace and whatnot, but I can’t translate if that’s what you’re asking.” 

Cas hummed, fighting the urge to lay down on the bed. “Did the same thing happen when you got my wings out?” 

“Yeah, basically. Any more questions Bill Nye?” 

Cas tilted his head at him, and Dean’s grin only grew as he rolled his eyes at Cas. Every piece of fiction has been downloaded into his brain, although already large chucks began to fade in Cas’s human mind, but Dean can still throw references at him that goes completely over his head. 

“Do your wings move before you realize it? Like a reflex?” Cas sighed, tipping his head back to the ceiling while his eyelids slumped down. Brief memories slid by, of powerful angels arching their wings in dominance. 

“Hey, I’m just glad it’s not just me.” 

“What about your soul?” Cas frowned when he heard his own words. “I mean, is your soul overpowering your mind?” 

Dean’s wings tightened, but his face remained relaxed. “No.” 

“Did you even understand what I meant?” Cas couldn’t claim the ability to speak in which people understand him all the time, but he can notice what phrases make people the most confused. Asking someone about their soul seemed like one of the confusing ones. 

“Of course.” 

“Then tell me.” 

Dean’s wings flicked back, seemingly irritated, and Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re asking me if I’m losing control to the energy or what not.” 

“Close, but-” Cas paused, searching for the phrase. “-no alcohol.” 

“Cigar, Cas. The phrase is ‘close but no cigar’. And besides, answer’s still no.” Dean rolled his eyes again, and Cas’s wings flicked back as well. Once he had these answers, he could sleep, but Dean’s not cooperating with him. Perhaps the answers could wait for another eight hours, maybe nine. Dean might be less willing to talk to him, but it can be done. 

“So you’re not having a harder time controlling your emotional reactions than usual?” Cas yawned, but he didn’t quite miss the stiffening of Dean’s wings. “It would be similar to how a spirit can’t stop any vengeful actions, despite the regret it would bring afterward.” 

“No Cas, I’m not going vengeful-“ 

“Yet you said the power is like the Mark of Cain. Your soul is stronger, it can and will overpower your mind. So let me reiterate Dean, what do you feel when your soul surges with a new emotion? Can you control it?” 

“I’m the master of my domain.” Dean’s wings arched up, flaring at him, and Cas’s wings lazily stretched out behind him, trying to respond but just furthering the slump of them. Despite the feathers ruffling, both his back and wings remained slumped. Perhaps Cas really should postpone these questions. 

“What about you? Can you control yourself?” Dean sneered at him and while his wings returned to his back as well, they kept twitching to go back up. “Now that you don’t have your safety net of grace protecting you.” 

Cas leveled Dean’s glare. “I’m in perfect control of my actions.” 

“Oh really? Because it seems to me-” Dean stood up. “-that if I do this-” In two short strides he looked down at Cas and pressed his palm into Cas’s forehead. “-you can’t control yourself either.” 

A surge Dean’s energy, what felt like the bulk of his soul, flooded over Cas. He grabbed onto his physical sensations and held them close as some sort of distraction. The way his wings fluttered out to Dean, the brush of their feathers almost as dizzying, or the way his eyes drooped down out of focus or how every limb has embraced this change with relief and now cried out to rest in it for a very long time in it, consciousness optional. 

He couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the building plea to sink into Dean’s warm soul without so much as a disciplinary thought or a scold on how selfish it is to do that. Even as Dean’s bloom of pride wilted into concerned Cas burrowed into it. Even as Dean’s soul started to pry away his sensations, where the sense of himself being lifted and pushed back faded away, he nestled in his warmth. Even as things started to drop away from him, to where Cas couldn’t even feel the lack of his grace, he stayed sheltered within Dean. Even as he fell asleep and the lone aware thought realized that this isn’t really like Dean, Cas ignored it in favor of holding onto him.


	3. Different Perspective

Dean watched Cas’s eyes flutter open briefly when he moved away, but ultimately remain closed. Only one more second passed until the concern- making Dean’s stupid feathers ruffle- got replaced by a scowl, his wings tensing at his back. Dean tried to prove a point, that he wasn’t some chick lost in his emotions, that the angel, coming from a species that really only knew how to be uptight dicks, had just as much control, or lack of it, as he. 

Now Cas was completely nights out for probably the next twelve hours. 

It had to Cas’s fault. Must be. He was so friggin’ desperate for it. Only for a moment did he halfheartedly try to ward off Dean, and Dean was all prepared to back off just to show how in control he was when Cas simply lost it. Yet he collapsed into Dean, his actual soul which made everything that much weirder, and snuggled into it as if he had every right. 

Granted, Dean scowled at himself again, he didn’t exactly try to push him off. 

His feathers, the stupid feathers that moved without his consent, finally stopped fidgeting, and he tried to make the two new massive limbs feel a bit less strange. Besides, it would have been quite cruel of him to just push the guy off when he couldn’t help but to feel Cas’s hurt. He ignored it during the first weird connective thing they did, the mere memory sending shivers throughout his feathers which Dean suppressed, since Cas seemed to have it pushed away and dealt with. Yet when he first sunk into Dean, the graceless angel with a body still tainted and sore from the sigil, Dean saw how wrong he was. How Cas’s original defensives were stronger than he first gave them credit. 

Dean gave Cas a once over, the human limbs nicely positioned flat on the bed with his wings limb and hazardously folded and bent over the bed. It looked unnatural and Dean decided that it cannot be anywhere near comfortable, so he very gently grabbed a wing to push it properly against Cas on the bed. 

Dean paused when his hands first brushed over the wings. They were so soft. Easily had to be the softest thing Dean has ever touched. Suddenly, Dean couldn’t help but think how dirty his hands must be. How he couldn’t be touching such silken soft feathers. Dean even knew what it was like to touch the clouds, an unruly shiver escaped down his back just thinking about it, but not even clouds came close to what Cas’s feathers felt like. Not even the fluffiest bird alive could compete, Dean was sure of it. 

He scanned his hands front and back once the first wing had been tucked into place. Satisfied with the lack of dirt on his hands and convinced Cas would be grouchy if his wings were kept in the same uncomfortable position, Dean moved onto the next wing. He took his time, lost in the way how the feathers glided through his fingers 

A smile crept on Dean’s face when he stepped back from Cas, his own wings kinda fluffed out to his sides, and Dean nodded to himself, content that Cas’s wings wouldn’t be sore when he woke up now. Even if they were deceptively soft and delicate to the touch, Dean smirked at them. Cas's wings, sleek and glossy black, fit him much better than any pure white snowy wings. It never quite sat right with Dean when he saw him smite creature after creature that he would have innocent white wings. Nah, the black warrior wings suited Cas much better. 

Dean’s overly massive wings did a little flutter thing, and for the life of him, Dean could not figure out what the little movements meant. Some were easy, like when he was mad or something. Yet then they did these things that possibly meant a stretch for the feathers or indicting an emotion. Then Cas’s wings stayed mostly straightened and at his back and the angel barely even seemed to notice they’re there. It pissed Dean off at first, how in control of the massive feathered limbs Cas was, always tense and posed while Dean felt like he was blundering around with feathers everywhere. 

Yet for the angel to admit that he too had problems with his wings, Dean slowly came to the conclusion that Cas’s wings simply couldn’t move with enough ease to be as flamboyant as Dean’s. They barely flicked at all during their last conversation, remaining limp and sprawled out by Cas. Especially when Dean skimmed over his memories and saw firsthand how useless Cas’s wings became after getting hit with the sigil. It was miracle Cas didn’t collapse sooner, and compared to him, Dean got away unscathed from that sigil while Cas treaded a very fine line of getting through that. 

A rush of anger, burning and seething with some sort of purpose, swelled up in him. That sigil could have killed Cas! It absolutely decimated the grace Cas had, Dean even just fully restocked him with it, and then left him on the brink of passing out. Any closer, since Cas had to be a good mile or so above it, and its effects would’ve been too much. Dean felt, literally felt with his very soul, all the damage still scarred within Cas and did anyone ever bothering apologizing to him about ruining him like that? 

Dean could admit he once lost control around Charlie, doing way more than necessary to keep her dark side at bay, and even he apologized profusely about that. Under the Mark of Cain he still apologized despite knowing that hurting Charlie like that might have been the only way to keep dark Charlie back. So for anyone to do that to Cas, almost wiping his grace from existence, and then not apologize- or even caring!- and still expect him to answer freakin’ questions and ease everyone’s fears is just plain old wrong! 

His wings flared out and he whipped towards the door. He was going to give Rowena a piece of his mind at how carelessly she put Cas’s life in danger. None of her stupid spells can ward off what he’s about to- 

Bitterness clamped in his jaw, and Dean froze. Shit, this was exactly the sort of thing Cas meant if Dean could control himself. Within less than a minute, a simple thought of Cas’s wings being too tired to show off Cas’s emotions like Dean’s wings almost had him storming through the bunker ready to reign down terror on a witch that admittedly started on her redemption path or whatever. 

How could his own soul be so similar to the Mark of Cain, despite less evil intentions and bloodlust? Waves of power and intent that overtook him whenever it surged. This wasn’t some curse or even the aftereffect from Amara, an all-powerful being who’s rage from Chuck’s betrayal had been around longer than Death, it was Dean’s very own soul. Whatever reaction he had, it was purely his own and nothing could change that. 

Especially what he did to Mom and Sam. 

His wings curled over him, pressing against his sides at how he could see them cower as he shrieked at them. It was stupid. He was merely startled. One moment, Cas showed him memories and then they just sorta. . . rested together from all the shit in their lives and then bam! Intruder alert sirens soared through him and the only thought he had was along the lines of protect. Which translated into almost blowing his Mom’s and Sam’s eardrums. 

It really wasn’t the Mark of Cain, but everything his soul reacted to usually meant violence in some way or another. 

Dean has to talk to Cas about it when he wakes up. Didn’t Cas say something about being out of sync? Maybe his soul or whatever played the aggressive game and Cas will show him how to fix that in the morning, when he’s all rejuvenated and stuff. Nothing even close will happen like the Mark of Cain, Dean would rather hack off his two new limbs before that. 

Dean glanced back at Cas again, figuring that it would be best if he had something to eat when he woke up. His body definitely needed food, not just sleep, and it would be easier for everyone if Cas didn’t have to navigate the kitchen along with other hunters who were searching for breakfast too. 

His wings bristled against each other and just exactly how many people now lived in the bunker. Almost two dozen if he recalled correctly, all of them in his home. He only knew Bobby’s and Charlie’s name, but before saying yes to Michael, he never had any talks with them longer than a minute. He might as well be a stranger in his own goddamn home. 

Sighing, Dean squeezed his wings to his back and decided to head to the bathroom first. Afterwards, he would make Cas something and go back to the room. Maybe make it a point to say sorry to Sam and Mom, he never really got the chance when Cas took control over the situation, and meet with Jack. Cas, again in freakin’ control over everything, never even gave him the chance to be glad to see him again. Dean would’ve stomped down the sudden confusion of why he had wings, he wanted to speak to Jack again. 

Dean’s wings naturally pressed to his sides, and with a streak of bitterness, Dean pegged the behavior as an insecurity. He huffed at it, grumbling to himself that growing two limbs covered in feathers was a completely understandable thing to be insecure about it. Most people couldn’t even judge because they can’t even relate, only Cas has claim to that. No one else had any room to judge. 

He rubbed off the sigil in the bathroom and then started for to kitchen, no shirt on since there was no way he could put a shirt on with two massive wings protruding from his back. The hallways, thankfully, stayed silent and empty on the way to the kitchen, yet if anything his wings pressed tighter against his sides. 

As Dean entered the kitchen, the two completely impractical wings got stuck on the doorframe. With a clenched jaw he maneuvered himself in. He never had a problem with heights before this, there better be some way to hoodoo this off him. Dean Winchester’s life had no room for wings in it. 

Dean grumbled as his wings kept hitting things, counters, shelfs, whatever plates left on the counter, and tried to keep them closer to his back. Stupid wings, they could only cause problems. Not only to they seem to telegraph his emotions for the whole freakin’ world, but how in the name of Heaven is he supposed to drive the Impala now? He had to drive his Baby, there’s got to be something he can do about it. 

Somehow though, Dean fished out everything he needed without making too big of a mess. Nothing fancy, Dean had no idea if Cas, or Jimmy he supposed, had any allergies, but he did know a peanut butter jelly sandwich would fly under the radar. It probably wouldn’t be enough, yet other than a few specific things, Dean’s the furthest away from a cook one could get. 

He did that trick with the peanut butter to stop the jelly from making the bread soggy or running out the sides. His lips twitched when he remembered little Sammy telling him that he always tried to trade away his sandwiches during lunch. Oh, after that Dean became hellbent on making Sam’s sandwiches the envy of the cafeteria. Whether he actually achieved that he couldn’t say, they probably moved on too soon, but Sam did mention the improvement of his sandwiches later on. So success. 

After cutting the sandwich diagonally, Dean grabbed a cup of water. Then he grabbed a bigger one instead, and then he grabbed another and filled them up. Dean knew the feeling of waking up thirsty and hungry all too well, the hunger died a bit if it had too, but thirst never dies. 

“Dean?” 

Dean’s wings perked at Jack’s voice and, when Dean tried to look over his shoulder, those stupid feathery headaches blocked his view. With a quick huff, he turned around to face Jack, smirking when the kid’s face got stuck in some indecisiveness between being awed or perplexed. 

Jack settled with perplexed, doing Cas’s head tilt thing. “I thought Cas said you had to rest?” 

“He did.” Dean’s shrugged carried to his wings. “But the dude is currently passed out. I don’t think he would rise if another apocalypse started.” 

Jack hummed, “He looked wide awake when you guys passed me.” 

Dean huffed, mumbling- “He’s a real good actor, that’s for sure.” -as he gestured for them to sit at the table. Jack followed, both hands relaxed on the table as he stared at Dean. 

“I know, I know,” Dean gestured back to the shifting wings, “A real eyesore.” 

“That’s not at all what I was thinking, I-” 

Dean raised a hand to stop him. “If the next words out of your mouth are that you like them, you better grab me a beer.” 

“I like them.” Dean rolled his eyes as Jack stood to get the beer, the hiss and rattle of the cap flying off bringing him some comfort. At least despite everything that happened he could still enjoy a good beer, maybe even more than usual. 

“Why don’t you?” Jack sat the beer down in front of him, leaning forward with a squint in his eye. Anyone else, Dean might have thought the other guy was trying to intimidate him, but Jack’s perplexed face only grew deeper. 

Dean arched an eyebrow at him and took a swig, before regarding Jack seriously. He leant forward, maintaining eye contact the whole time, and spoke with a slight growl in his throat. “You think I can drive Baby like this?” 

Jack blinked, then chuckled kinda breathy once Dean smiled and took another drink. “Oh, for a second I thought you were going to say they were Michael’s wings and not yours.” Jack paused, did the head tilt again. “They are your wings, right Dean?” 

“Yep, 100% the rightful property of Dean Winchester. Whether I like that or not.” Michael doubts, Dean should’ve figured everyone would still have them. Even Sammy only had to fend off an archangel for a few minutes, pretty hard to believe Dean could ward off Michael long enough to kill him. 

“Hey kid,” Dean pointed and waved the neck of the bottle at Jack. “What about you? How’s the old human life treating you?” 

Jack looked down, frowning. “I think I’m experiencing my first cold. It’s not very pleasant.” 

Dean thought back to the first time he got sick, real sick. It turned out be a bad case of the flu instead of the regular coughs he would get from time to time staying in all those rundown motels. Sammy was too young still to do things on his own and John just told him if he can’t beat a flu then worse things would have no problem cutting him down. He figured out real quick that it was easier to breathe over the boiling pot of water when making SpaghettiOs despite how much he would sweat from it. 

“Your body will work through it on its own.” Dean leveled a stare at him. “But if it persists or you start feeling hot while you shiver, tell one of us about it. You’ll need some medicine to fight it off.” 

“Fight? How could I possibly engage in combat with-” 

“Geez Jack, you’ve been spending too much time with Cas.” Dean swallowed a few more gulps as his lips curved up, his wings relaxing. “I meant your immune system. You have cells in your body designed to literally engulf invaders and then spit out the remains.” 

Jack lifted his hands to examine them. “I do?” 

“Yep.” 

“Well-” Jack sighed, hands flopping on the table. “-this body doesn’t seem strong enough to do that.” 

“What are you? A year old? While you had your mojo basically overpowering everything, kinda easy to overlook at everything a human body manages to do without all the bells and whistles.” 

Jack scoffed, “The only thing I’ve managed to do is get punched, a lot. I tire way before everyone else and-” 

“Everyone just came from a world of survival of the fittest and have lived at least fifteen times longer, cut yourself some slack.” Dean rolled his eyes, tipping his beer farther up to get another drink. 

“Well, I still can’t seem to fight off a mere common cold.” 

Dean finished the rest of the beer, the empty glass thudding against the table. “Jack, you haven’t even had all your vaccinations. Hell, one-time Sam got this bug after we hunted down a few ghouls. It was from some flea bite. Disgusting. Got a fever so bad he could barely get out of bed, which was unfortunate since he got diarrhea the next day. Shipped him straight over to the hospital and it still took a good week or two for him to recover.” 

“So there is a definite possibility something worse than a cold will get to me?” 

Dean glared at Jack and his feathers bristled momentarily. “What? No. All I’m saying is that you could be strong and prepared and tough and still need someone else. It’s just something humans need.” 

“Oh.” Jack slowly nodded, looking to the side. “Yes, I don’t like it when I’m alone, it’s pretty easy for me to see how I could get worse if I stay that way.” 

Dean kept his face absolutely neutral when the much too frequent memories of being forgotten and pushed aside surfaced, but his stupid wings deflated behind him like some popped balloon. Dean scowled; he was not that sad about it. He just complained to himself about there being too many people in the bunker, no way he’s lonely. Dean Winchester does not get lonely. 

“Dean?” Jack peered over at his wings; his head tilted yet again. “Is there something wrong with your wings?” 

A bluff whirled up quickly in his head and eased from his mouth with no hitches. “Cas may have gone down like a sack of potatoes, but I’m not feeling too light myself. Might have to call it in.” 

“That’s unfortunate. You’ll most likely sleep through Sam’s meeting.” 

“Well,” Dean, and his feathers, shifted uneasy, Dean’s never had to listen to Sam in a presentation in any kind of way. “Tell him sorry, but I am not getting up in the morning for a boring meeting.” 

“Oh,” Jack perked up, a little smile on his face. “The meeting isn’t until 1 o’clock. Will you get up for it now?” 

“Wait, what time is it now?” Dean instinctively looked around, wings flicking back as he scowled because there are never any clocks in the bunker. 

“Three in the morning, roughly.” 

“Screw this,” Dean stood, grabbing the empty beer bottle, and went back to the counter. “I’m gonna go to sleep.” He tossed the bottle and grabbed the glasses, balancing the plate on top of one. “You shouldn’t be up at this unholy hour either.” 

“There’s nothing that makes three a.m. any less holy than-” 

“It’s unholy! I’ve met God, He said so.” 

Dean chuckled once he got to the hallway, this time he dodged getting stuck in the doorway, and his wings folded, relaxed. He could just see the perplexed little frown as Jack tilts his head, the kid even more like Cas with not understanding basic human things, like when to sleep. Sam will tell the poor kid the truth, but Dean grinned knowing Jack would believe that three a.m. really is unholy until then. Maybe it was about time he played a prank on Sam. Someone should peg the leader of this little gang of hunters down a few notches, might as well be Dean. 

He should stick to the good old classics. Itching powder was a must. Ironing his sheets and shirts with beer tempted him. Maybe take a picture of his face sharpied with dicks all over it, print out the pictures and tape them all over the bunker. Too bad Dean was no good at photoshop, the things he could put up on the walls. Probably something Jack shouldn’t see, but he’ll have to learn sometime. 

Dean slipped inside the room; Cas just as dead to the world to when Dean left. He set the sandwich and water on the end table and grabbed the tv remote. He kicked the normal chair out of the way to roll the nicer one at the foot of the bed. He grunted a bit too loudly when the back shoved itself between his feathers when he sat down. Twitches flew through his wings at the uncomfortableness, but it could be worse. 

He flickered through the channels, a horror movie popping up. It was no Hatchet Man, but it’ll do. Good thing Michael got taken care of before Halloween, he wouldn’t want to miss the Halloween or Hatchet Man marathons. Maybe he could get Jack and Cas to watch it too, Sam never really like the movies. Although if he convinced Mom into it too, she might force Sam to watch it with them. A big Winchester movie marathon, first time in history. 

Dean nodded along to his plan. Mom had to be the one to pop the popcorn, she’d feel guilty that she wouldn’t make it right so compensate by adding a glorious amount of butter. He’d send Jack to get drinks at the store since, unlike Sam, he wouldn’t buy the healthy crap and Cas’s ability to shop hasn’t improved enough for him to do it. His Dean Cave never got much use after the Scooby-Doo thing, although he definitely replaced the tv, since everything with the Apocalypse World came to a head and then there was Michael. . . so it’s about time he used that room after how much time he put in it. 

The thought of a hunter converting it briefly crossed his mind, yet it brushed it off. Sam wouldn’t let anyone touch it, and if he did, Dean would cut off his hair. Take as much time for it to grow back as it would for him to rebuild his masterpiece. 

He would have to borrow a truck to get a bigger couch. Rather, Sam would have to. Dean scowled, his stupid wings even tensed up too, since he can’t go in public anymore. No Baby, no more bars, no more anything! His body literally grounded him from doing anything, unless he was willing to remove the two limbs, but Cas mentioned they might be vital for his soul not blowing up his body. 

Whatever, Sam would get it. They’d have a night. They deserved a night off. It finally stopped, from when Dean broke that first seal in Hell to every big bad that tried to rise since then, he can’t see anything now. The angels had too few numbers to pull anymore stunts, Hell probably wasn’t in good condition, and monsters always will be relatively easy to take care of now that Purgatory is shut. So if anything else tries to rear its ugly head then it can damn well wait another night. 

Grabbing hold of that thought, Dean bashed any lingering pesky little doubts that never seem to quite go away. How did something injure Michael in the first place for Dean to get control? Nothing more to do than alert the other hunters about that, Dean would not think about it. Any questions on what happened to Dean will wait because Dean won’t exactly be going anymore. He has all the time in the world to answer those questions. For once the Winchesters get to say no. 

What if John said no? What if he denied the hunter life? 

His eyes glazed over the tv. The question popped up from time to time, a form of self-pity Dean sometimes stoops into. Sam probably would have died when Azazel scooped him up for his Hunger Games competition. Yet he would have died married to Jessica, living his dream in law school. Would that be better for Sammy? A shorter life, but never locked in a cage with Lucifer and always having to be the one to save the world. 

Dean shook the thoughts out with a scowl, trying to keep his wings still since it felt way too weird for them to move with the chair back within the feathers. He was proud of Sam, no better man has walked the Earth or will walk it. He overpowered the Devil with no help at all and yet gave his son a shot when Dean wouldn’t. Sam had a sort of kindness and compassion after going through the cursed Winchester life that Dean wished he had. All Dean ended up doing was develop a snarky attitude and a pair of wings. 

This wasn’t right. Dean never allowed these thoughts, at least so many of them, to come all at once. Peace and prosperity and shit now rained over the Earth or whatever. Dean refused to spend that time mulling over and depressing himself. A horror movie played in front of him, and Dean did not remove his eyes off it for another second. He lost track of time as he watched the fake horror where the bad guy never actually hurt anyone.


	4. The Righteous Soul

A scream broke the dream of endless gazes on him and Cas’s eyes flew open. He sucked in a deep breath when he saw the origin of the noise, Dean’s tv. Blinking some more, Cas glanced around him. Dean stared at the tv, wings held tense and utterly engrossed with the movie, and at some point he must have scrubbed the sigil from his chest. Cas laid on the bed, with a sandwich with two glasses of water on the nightstand next to him, one half empty. 

He opened his mouth, with a plan to say something, when the muscles in his jaw kept going, the urge to stretch expanding to all the muscles in had. His fingers and toes splayed out as far as they could,arms and legs reaching out to the corners of the bed. His wings unfurled, feathers straining outward and all his body started to wake up. It would only be truly perfect if his wings didn’t hit the walls and bend up into the ceiling. 

“Morning angel.” Cas arched his back of the bed, stretching all those muscles too, before sitting up and facing Dean, who stayed glued to the tv. 

“I’m not much of an angel, I'm effectively human for the time being, any grace I’m recovering is going straight to Heaven.” Cas eyed the sandwich, spotting the peanut butter between the bread. 

Dean grunted, “Can’t you stop that? It’s your grace after all.” 

“Not necessarily.” Cas reached over and bit into the sandwich, smiling at the flavors. Blueberry jelly and peanut butter, with wheat bread, very delicious, exactly sweet and filling enough to satisfy the growling emptiness in his stomach. “Heaven can-“ 

“Ahvan co. That, that’s what you sound like.” 

Cas sighed, swallowing and lowering the sandwich from his face. “An angel’s grace is tethered to Heaven, as grace powers Heaven. Until recently, there was so many angels that simple excess grace was enough, but now Heaven doesn’t have the power to keep the lights on at a stable rate. So Naomi and the others have changed it to suck out grace, there’s nothing I can do to stop it.” 

“Human huh?” 

Cas stilled, teeth hovering above the sandwich, as Dean’s wings slumped behind him. Even his voice soured, flat in his attempts not to sound bitter. 

“In name, no. Yet I practically am, with wings of course. Does that concern you?” Cas took another bite, watching Dean shuffle and keep his eyes on the tv. 

“No, not at all.” Dean kicked something, a light skidding across the floor. “Promise to not kick you out this time around.” 

Cas swallowed, the timber in his voice falling down a few notches. “I will expect you to if it’s to save someone’s life.” 

Dean simply grunted back at him, ending it. Cas focused on finishing his sandwich and not the growing bitterness stiffening in his wings. If Dean chose not to share, then Cas would accept that. Dean never willingly shared his feelings and thoughts anyway, best not to expect anything. It will be addressed if it becomes a problem. 

All too soon, the sandwich vanished from his hands. Then the glass of water, and while he didn’t want to drink the other half full one under the assumption it was Dean’s, he soon drank that too. Now that he stopped though, it seemed as if he never started. A dry yet sticky thirst in his mouth and throat with a stomach not registering he ate at all. 

“Dean?” 

Dean ripped his eyes from the tv to glare at him. “I swear Cas, if you bring up-” 

“Is there any more food in here?” Dean huffed at him, head straightening back with wings shifting. “Not to be rude, the sandwich was delicious, but I don’t think it was enough.” 

Dean smiled so Cas relaxed his wings falling limp, safely assuming Dean wasn’t mad. “I get it, I think I was in here for only about thirty minutes until I needed to eat something.” Dean’s face scrunched into maybe the smirk equivalent of a frown. “I think I scared the hunter who I asked to run into town to get me a few boxes of pizza.” 

Cas straightened, “Is there any left?” 

Dean rolled his eyes, bending over and then tossing a box onto the bed. Keeping eye contact a second longer with Dean to verify he that he could have the entire box, Cas quickly flipped the lid open. Various cheeses and meats met his eyes, and despite that it went cold a while ago, he tasted plenty of greasy and cheesy flavors, much better than molecules. 

“I don’t have any more water, but if you ain’t up for going all the way to the kitchen, just use the tap water in the bathroom.” 

Cas hummed that he heard, yet decided the pizza demanded most of his attention. His throat ached about that; since when he folded the pizza to take a bite, he ended up biting into too much and his throat struggled to swallow all of it. Yet Sam, Dean, and most of the hunters they’ve eaten with all seem to eat it this way, so it must be correct. 

When he finished, the entire pizza box, he did go to the bathroom to fill the glasses. The feathers and muscles tensed in his back at the mere thought of running into people. Although he must speak to Jack soon, he had the strong urge to avoid talking, even to Jack. The mere idea of it causing his wings to droop. Talking to people would require much more energy than silence. 

Sighing, Cas first had to urinate and defecate. It’s strangeness from his human days hasn’t changed, and Cas missed his grace that prevented him to have to digest. Afterwards, he drank a full glass and refilled it, drinking half of it and refilling it again. With his thirst momentarily sated, Castiel didn’t suspect for long, he walked back to Dean’s room. 

Cas paused it front of it, blinking rapidly. With a sort of stunned disconnect, he stared at the door for almost a minute. Caught in how simply approaching this door threw him through every aspect of grief a couple of days ago, yet now when he reached for the doorknob, a content relief relaxed his wings and shoulders. Peculiar. 

“Here,” Cas handed Dean the extra glass, “You need to drink as well.” Dean should also wear a shirt, it must be cold if Cas didn’t feel warm wearing three layers, yet Cas let it slide due to Dean’s unique circumstances. 

Dean huffed yet grabbed it with a small twitch of his lips up. “Bottoms up.” 

Cas took a sip as Dean drained half of the glass setting it down to return his focus back to the movie. The screen flashed with various faces who were all in some sort of conversation about a killer outside a police station. Cas tilted his head at it, frowning. He recognized the parallels between the movie’s protagonists and the lives of the Winchesters, but none of the memories Metatron downloaded into him provided any sort information except a title: Scream. 

“What’s wrong Cas?” Dean took another drink, frowning for a second at the glass. “Horror not your cup of tea?” 

“I don’t drink tea, it’s simply that I thought Metatron seared all fictional creations into me, but perhaps I am forgetting it much quicker than I assumed.” 

Dean paused it, gave him a look. Cas shifted, urging his wings to still as they shifted and opened a bit. Unable to interpret their actions, as they never acted this way with other angels or his superiors back in Heaven, Cas decided to keep them still. Now was not the time to analyze his emotions. 

“That won’t do.” 

Cas blinked, tilted his head at the decisive tone in Dean’s voice. It was strange hearing it when they weren’t on a hunt, on something as unimportant as a movie. Yet Cas had no incentive to argue,staying standing to watch and no need to say or do anything tempted him. Strange, he found peace in the prospect of watching other people act out deaths and killings, something that takes up most his time in the real world. 

“Scream’s a classic, one of the first comedy type horrors, so it’s not as scary or creepy as others. It’s still roughly in the beginning, you’ll catch on pretty quick. But,” Dean stood, arched an eyebrow at Cas. “I call dibs on the bed, so have fun in that chair.” 

Cas glanced over at the bed and back to Dean. “Why?” 

“’Cause I called dibs-” 

“Yes, I understand the concept of dibbing something. I fail to see why though, since the bed is big enough to fit both of us comfortably.” 

Dean rolled his eyes, his wings opening partly. “We have wings man, no way that’s comfortable.” 

“It worked just fine when we were in the truck.” 

Dean froze, his open mouth snapping shut with clenched jaws. Without a shirt on, a problem Cas realized they had no current solution to fix, the tensing of most of his muscles showed. Even his wings tensed up for a moment, although after a second they opened a bit wider. Dean glared at the right one, feathers ruffling and wing twitching, but he gave up on trying to get it to move back to his back. 

“Doesn’t count, we were thrown in.” A sort of curt defensive tone got into Dean’s voice, shutting down any more mention of the truck. “This is different.” 

Cas sighed, figuring that words would fail him, and gestured to the bed. Dean grunted, Cas assumed he was fine with it then, and plopped down on the far side of bed. He opened his mouth, but since Cas still didn’t trust words to explain his meaning, Cas simply laid down on top of one Dean’swings. Shifting for a moment to release some feathers pressed uncomfortably underneath him, Cas relaxed, content that he had proved his point. 

“See? Perfectly comfortable, play the movie.” 

“Wait no,” Dean drew in a sharp breath but, not wanting to put up with it, Cas turned to him as he rubbed his wing over the eagle-like one, trying to soothe him as their feathers brushed together.“You- uh, I won’t-” 

“There’s nothing wrong.” Cas tone dropped, trying to convince Dean to shut up as he felt tired of speaking. “Play the movie Dean.” 

Dean stared at Cas for a few seconds before giving a slow nod. Cas turned back to the screen as Dean pressed play, rubbing Dean’s wing and revealing in the softness one last time. His lips tried to curve into a smile, but Cas held off the urge at the prospect of Dean seeing it, only barely. This position most definitely had to be scores better than that chair Dean was on, and his feathers were still so divinely soft under him. 

Cas’s only asked about the tension between the deputy and the wife of the sheriff. Since Dean chuckled when he said the deputy had a thing for the sheriff, Cas thought him to be relaxed enough that Dean was no longer tense about their position. Their wings arranged themselves in a more organic manner on the truck, as Dean was on his stomach then, but even with keeping his wings folded, Cas barely acknowledged it. 

Once the second movie played, he let his wings relaxed. His right had an easier time unfurling a bit, as no one was on that side. Yet he only slowly let his left unfurl. He felt, a very human paranoia sense, Dean’s gaze on him as the wing expanded over his chest, feathers brushing over his skin. Oncethe wing got it far enough for it not to be so tense, he let it rest, and it covered all of Dean’s chest. 

Dean sighed, a huge thing Cas felt next to him, and it carried a lot of stress and tension. Yet again, Dean said nothing, and Cas couldn’t stop the smile this time. He felt full, hydrated, and well rested. A certain peace and pleasantness embraced him at being unproductive and lazy while watching a movie, or a series of movies, with Dean. So enjoyable, that Cas almost didn’t stop himself from snuggling back into Dean. Dean was rather warm. 

Cas knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was willing to stay like this for a very long time.Since, finally, no creature of superior power has a mission of destroying the entire world or making humanity their slaves. Monsters and demons still roamed about, and they will have to be taken care of, but other hunters were out to do that. Perhaps Sam will organize the hunters here with other hunters in the States. Admittedly, it would be the same goal of the British Men of Letters, but Sam won’t have such a black and white view. 

Cas sighed, smiling and gazing at the screen, and decided everything to get to this very moment was irrefutably worth it. 

Dean fell asleep as the fourth movie’s credits began to roll. Perhaps he fell asleep sooner, yet Cas only knew of it when the wing under him curled up. Dean, in his sleepy efforts to draw his wings back to his body, unintentionally nudged Cas closer. He muttered gibberish as Cas wormed his way out,who was better at not hurting his feathers after getting up to visit the bathroom again. Dean grumbled groggily, arms twitching to him and hitting Cas, before Dean laid still. 

Cas stretched, entirely not content with it when his wings hit against the walls. The muscles clamped up and groggy, unable to properly stretch and wake up, which wouldn’t do. Some fresh air would do him some good anyway, maybe talk to Sam too. Cas suspected the Winchester had many questions rattling inside him, but out of respect or something else, let Dean and him rest for the past day. 

Has it only been a day? Cas mused as he walked through the bunker’s hallways. As an angel, he used to have an exact sense of time. Time tended to move differently in different places, Hell moved slower and Heaven varied depending on how the lead angel manipulates the grace to control time, if excess was available, and Purgatory moved only seconds off from Earth, yet Castiel always knew the precise millisecond of every dimension. His sense of time was absolute, he knew how much time passed in Earth and in Heaven as he traveled through Hell searching for Dean. 

Cas sighed, meandering his way to the entrance. While his kept his wings tucked to his back, he didn’t even notice they brushed against to the wall to avoid other people. Lost in his memories of his mission. No foul smell or heat affected him as he searched Hell, slipping past demons celebrating the first broken seal. His wing flaps covered by screams, souls screeching in wrenched depths. 

Most prominently, he remembered his doubts and frustrations when he was sent to free the Righteous Man. Castiel was sent after he broke, when the ripple of the first seal breaking hit all angels,yet even then, Heaven took days deciding who to send. By the time they chose Castiel, precisely eight years, ten months, two weeks, five days, eighteen hours, thirty-three minutes, and fifty-seven seconds passed in Hell. 

At the time, he didn’t even know what Dean looked like, his only information that he would feel it. Such vague instructions, and he couldn’t help but wonder that if Michael truly kept such strict watch on the final prophecy left by God, then why didn’t they try to save the Righteous Man before he broke? Michael must’ve known the demons would go harder on such a soul, they wouldn’t have as much time, and yet they took as long as possible. 

While later Castiel saw the corruption of Heaven for what it was, in the moment he was so frustrated for having doubts. Especially since his superiors chose him for such an important mission,they chose him despite it all. He should have felt honored, relieved after struggling so hard to prove his reliability and faith against their doubt of him, but he doubted his mission critical to the last prophecy from God. Faith crumbled and his reliability began to shake then soon break after this mission, as the other angels suspected would always happen. 

He remembered Hester, she was so observant of him once he came back from Hell. At first he thought she did it to make sure he was okay, an angel could be trapped in Hell even if demons lacked the means to kill angels at the time, or the curiosity of an angel having a vessel. A few angels in Castiel’s old garrison- a pang of sorrow hit him knowing that they are all dead- were the only angels with vessels.Yet as time unfolded, the true reason revealed itself to Castiel; she was watching to see if Castiel’s loyalty to Heaven stayed strong after rescuing Dean. She was studying him. 

His muscles clenched, and while he relaxed most of them, his wings refused to relaxed along with the tight heat in his chest. Cas quickened his pace, entering the map room, since he needed to feel the fresh air. Rid himself of the past, his angelic life, he needed to be rid of it. 

”Cas, hey!” Cas jolted when Sam called to him as he got to the first step of the stairs. “I need to- hey, where are you going?” 

“I just need some fresh air.” Cas turned to Sam, clenched wings unfurling angrily at Sam, and Cas quickly continued when Sam frowned at them. “I need to stretch my wings, they’re very tense and they keep hitting walls.” 

Sam smiled, the lie believable as the stairs blocked his left wing from extending any further than about a foot or two. “I won’t take too much of your time. I just wanted to ask about Dean. I know Jack talked to him and he said Dean was basically the same, except that he doesn’t like the wings. Which makes sense I guess. With the wings, he can’t exactly drive the Impala and he can’t even go out into town anymore-” 

“Sam, you’re rambling.” Cas’s wing, or at least his right one, flared out, but Cas quickly got it under control, straining them to return to his back. 

Sam nodding, sighing. “Yeah, it’s just- Out of all the things-” Sam sighed again, dragging a hand down his face before walking to him. “You know, can I join you? I need some fresh air myself.” 

“Of course.” Usually, Cas would respectfully let the Winchester pass him to go first, but Cas believed he could be pardoned for not doing that, seeing as his wings make that very cumbersome. 

The metal stairs clanged beneath him, the steel door shutting with a deep bang that vibrated through the ground and walls more than the air. Once on the dirt road, Cas closed his eyes as he regained the peace he had earlier. The air was cool, but not too much. Cas suspected it might noon and he took a sharp inhale of the crisp air, stretching his wings. 

Wings extended far out to his sides and arched up into the air. A gentle breeze ruffled through the vanes of each feather as he twisted them. The primary ones moved easily, and even with their subtle shifts it changed how the breeze hit him. It took increasingly more discipline and will to move feathers in the thicker areas. The secondaries moved easily enough, but he only managed to rock the other feathers side to side together. 

With a slow exhale he drew his wings back, letting them stay loose at his sides. He took a sharp breath in, the crisp air almost stinging his trachea. He rocked lightly onto the balls of his feet to simply feel the shift of his weight press against his feet. The hairs on his hands stood with goosebumps as the cool fall air settled onto to the skin of his face and hands, a stark comparison to the heat underneath all his layers. 

When he opened his eyes, Sam smiled at him as he leaned against a tree. Cas, to his surprise, smiled back. He didn’t even notice, but the smile felt so right and pure. A well-earned smile after working so hard. 

“The wings are beautiful,” Sam tilted his head, “Dean’s right about them going to be a hassle, but they’re just- they're just breathtaking.” 

Cas stretched out a wing, gazing at the melanistic feathers. “Thank you. I suppose it is different for Dean, but to have my wings again, even if corporal and weaker, it’s a gift I’ll always be thankful for.” 

Sam’s smile fell, lips tense. “That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. What did Dean do? How did he do it? I know you said he isn’t burning his soul and he doesn’t have grace, but how could he get that sort of power? It just doesn’t make sense.” 

“The answer’s complicated, even what I do know for sure, I can’t tell you why it works like this.” Cas hesitated, “You also might dislike the some of the possible theories.” 

“When do I ever like it? I can take it Cas.” Sam sighed and sat down against the tree, looking up at him as if Sam knew that he needed to sit down for this. 

They stared at each other for a few seconds, the sole reason being that Cas took a second or two to decide where to start. The best place, he decided, was at the very beginning and the base of his knowledge. 

“‘And so it is written, that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell. As he breaks, so shall it break.’ Have you ever considered how Dean is righteous?” 

Sam brows crinkled together. “Dean’s a good man, there’s no one as selfless-” 

“Selflessness is an old trait, celebrated by all humans before they had words to name it. Many souls have given themselves up and went to Hell for it, and they never broke the seal when they broke. No one endures Hell indefinitely, even Heaven pardons the few souls that escape from it if they were righteous in their earthly life. Just look at what it did to Gabriel in roughly a span of eighty years. Not even archangels can tolerate it.” 

Sam opened his mouth, and Cas paused as Sam slowly closed his mouth to think. He rested his chin on his hand as the weight of Cas’s words pressed down on him. Cas’s feet ached slightly, uncomfortable from standing still for so long, yet Cas didn’t know how to sit on the ground with his wings. So he shuffled almost absently, waiting for Sam to gather his speculations. 

“Does it have something to do with our bloodline? With Dean being the true vessel of Michael?” Sam jaw tightened and relaxed, focused in thought. 

“Your father spent a hundred years in Hell when the demons thought him to be the righteous soul. Yet when he broke under that pressure, the seal remained whole. Michael possessed him and Adam, and Adam lived a regular life that I’m sure involved a lot less saving and sacrifice.” 

Cas sighed, now venturing from the facts to theories that can never be proven. “I suspect the nature of Dean’s soul is more complex than being simply ‘righteous’. Dean didn’t believe in himself, he didn’t believe in God, yet with all of his soul he believed that things could change. For the worse or for the better, he believed in that. Yet what I think. . . steals the cake so to speak, is that despite things often changing for the worse, he fought to make it better.” 

Cas paused, the thoughts he tried to push aside mere moments earlier swarming him again. A bitter tightness in his chest. Such confidence in faith, even if it was faith for something unconventional and nonreligious, and the only time Cas remembered about that faith faltering was when Dean bore the Mark of Cain. Even demonized though, he molded his actions to defy the order and benefit him, rejecting Crowley, fighting the Mark, and then rejecting family. A change for the worse, but still change. 

The tight heat from his chest slivered into his tone. “No God to trust in. No past experiences to rely on. No lies or reassurances that good prevails. Only with the painful truth that everyday humans fall prey to monsters and demons, a truth you know drives some people mad or depressed, yet he still believed and fought for good change to happen in the world.” 

Cas glimpsed at the memories shimmering at the back of his mind. The doubts and the fears, all the questions of where God was. The questioning of his superiors and the fascination he had for humanity, how they fought for knowledge with nothing to guide them. Cas struggled to pull away for them, and a selfish tired thought muttered to him that he should try to find a human remedy to quell them now that his grace couldn’t. 

“I believe it’s because of that his soul had the ability to absorb Michael’s grace as he died, to take it into itself. A change that clearly had consequences, yet without it we might have taken years before we found him in that bound sigil.” 

A silence settled over them, and Cas couldn’t handle standing anymore. With a sigh, he sat and leaned back into a tree next to Sam’s, ignoring dirt getting in between his feathers and the uncomfortable position. “Or perhaps Chuck made his soul different in the first place.” 

“No,” Sam stared out in front of them. “Chuck. . . I don’t think Chuck cared enough to intervene himself. I think he was perfectly content to wait for it to happen organically, watch it play out.” 

They stayed silent a while longer. Cas let Sam digest that new perspective and he tried to fill out some of the holes in his theories, simultaneously pushing his angel life down. Cas knew Dean’s soul is different, he cannot say for sure what the fundamental difference is, even if he does believe in his theory. Perhaps the universe, or Chuck for that matter, followed a different criterion for righteousness he simply isn’t aware of. He can’t prove anything except explain his own thoughts. 

He resisted the urge to sigh, he was always full of doubts. 

“So what’s his soul like?” 

Cas smiled despite himself. “Magnificent in every sense of the word.” The smile slowly dropped from his face, looking back on it. He remembered it, how he almost faltered the mission when he found the righteous man. Realizing that his superiors were absolutely right when they said he’d feel it. 

“Fire, his soul burned bright and golden, purer than any of the ashy fires surrounding him.” Cas slid his eyes shut. “Hissing and screaming like water was pouring over it when Alistair guided him through torture. I was immune to the heat of the ever-raging fires in Hell, immune to acts of cruelty. And yet-“ 

His chest grew heavy, smaller breaths entering his lungs. He hated thinking back on those times, especially now that he had free thoughts and emotions, his shoulders stooped down and the smile wiped from his face. Perhaps he jinxed it, thinking about it earlier or easily falling into this conversation thread. Again, he wiped the thoughts from his mind and the smile twitched back up when his thoughts travelled back to rescuing Dean. 

“The mere sight shook my grace. I couldn’t remember God’s prophecy or the first seal, as the first true warmth I’ve ever felt washed over me. The passions burning within Dean, hate and shame and apologies, stirred me. Yet when I flew and grabbed him and took off, all in the same amount of time your eye stays closed when you blink, all those things struck at me. I almost lost grip on him, and I grabbed tighter to the point where he thought he was under attack.” 

Cas chuckled, “I healed Dean’s body and placed his soul back inside and flew off like a scared rabbit. I had Heaven’s orders to return back immediately anyway, but I didn’t want to. I regretted leaving him like that, and how severe could Heaven be angered should I take an extra minute or two? 

“So, the first of my many rash actions happened, I tried to speak to Dean in my angelic form. Dean hasn’t been in my grasp for more than a few seconds and he’s fresh from Hell, there was no way he would be in a state that might comprehend my voice.” Cas laughed again, the smile staying on his face. “I was such a fool.” 

“Hey,” Cas glanced over to Sam, “I think the fool version of you is much better than the strict Castiel that couldn’t understand jokes for the life of him.” Sam chuckled too, looking out ahead again. “Although you still can be pretty bad at picking up jokes still.” 

“Thank you.” Cas kept his mouth open, trying to return to where he left off with the original topic, but he couldn’t remember. “Can you tell me where I left off with how Dean’s soul could heal wings? I believe I got caught in a tangent.” 

Sam laughed, ”You just explained why you think Dean’s soul could absorb grace.” 

“Oh yes of course,” Cas cleared his throat. “Especially since Dean’s meant to be the vessel of an archangel, his body would also be better equipped to handle the angelic power. Which is why,” Cas sighed, “Why I thought Dean, despite what just happened, would hear my voice.” 

“He probably could hear it now. If that’s any comfort.” 

Cas curled his wing in, tugging at one of his primaries. “I don’t think I can leave this vessel, even if I had any desire to do so. Even without the wings, I’m not. . . I don’t have the ability to do that anymore.” 

They settled into silence. Cas kept his attention on his feather, rubbing and twisting it in his fingers. He knew the expression the younger Winchester would have, a mix of remorse and pity. Sam possessed the politeness not to say anything, but to see his thoughts in his eyes, Cas didn’t want to see that. He accepted that he will be of flesh for the rest of his life, a price he was willing to pay for the life he has here. 

“To explain why Dean even had the chance to absorb grace, you must understand that it performs the same basic necessity of housing the essence of an angel. It provides a form for the angel inside, and naturally, will try to stay alive. When Dean bound himself inside that sigil and activated the one on his chest, that triggered the instinct." Cas let go of the feather, but still refused to glance at Sam. 

“The sigil on his chest was meant to burn grace. Granted, I’m not entirely sure how long that took, yet at some point Michael had to stopped trying to escape the binding sigil and looked to Dean’s soul to escape.” 

Sam sharply inhaled, understanding dawning in his voice. “But at that point, it would have to convert into something other than grace to stop burning.” 

“Michael would have died when he couldn’t convert like his grace, and if he did survive that, would have been blasted apart when Dean’s soul transformed. I don’t know how everything happened next, I suspect the wings and angelic omen happened simultaneously of that, but Dean has no memories of it and I don’t think it’s of any import anyway.” 

Sam ran his hand through his hair as Cas turned back to him, leaning his head back for a second. “Okay, so that would mean the grace or whatever is still generating power, but now that it’s a part of Dean’s soul, it’s coming off as like, excess?” 

“In a way, yes.” Cas stood, wiggling his wings in a fruitless endeavor to find a comfortable position on the ground. “The energy he produces is a part of his being, they aren’t separate, but who he is never weakens. I can’t say much else, Dean would probably find it terribly rude if I probed his soul to see what’s different about it.” 

“Ain’t that the truth.” Sam stood and stretched. “And hey, there’s one thing I don’t get. You said Dean’s soul was golden? Did it just decide to become green or something?” 

“Golden soul and blue grace; yellow and blue mix to make green. It’s possible the precise shade may change, or maybe Dean unknowingly forces it to match his eyes. Or the energy changes color as it travels through his body. I’m unsure of it.” 

“Well, thanks for clearing that up for me. I’ve got a lot of questions lately.” Sam goes to pat his back, only to hesitate mid-air, warily gazing at his wings that blocked the friendly gesture. 

“It’s okay Sam, you can touch them.” Yet even as he said it, he shuffled his wings so that no possibility existed that Sam might touch the inside of his wings. The feathers weren’t too particularly different there, yet Cas felt the urge to hide them anyway. 

Cas straightened when Sam gently touched the ridge of his wing, barely even touching as he glided his hand down. Similar to with Dean, a jolt traveled down him. Yet stronger, demanding he pulled away. His other wing tightened with the urge before Sam hastily removed his hand. With a slow exhale, Cas reached to his wing, his own fingers not even causing a twitch. 

“I’m sorry Sam, I don’t know why that happened.” Cas removed his hand, facing Sam. “It felt like you shocked me.” 

The concern on Sam’s face washed away, replaced with an easy-going smile. “Oh, that shouldn’t be a surprise. Wings probably generate some static energy or it could’ve been me.” He looked back to his wings, smile dropping a bit. “Can, may I touch them again?” 

With a forced nod, Cas begrudging extended his wing in front of him towards him. He knew he could trust Sam and judging by the awed gleam in the Winchester’s eyes, it meant a great deal to him. Yet it took a great deal of effort to relax his muscles and not snap his wing back when the same jolt jarred him. Cas didn’t even want to know what his reaction would be if Sam touched the underside of his wing. 

“They’re so soft. . .” 

Sam moved his hand down, and while Cas willed that wing to keep still, a fine tremble went through the other wing. Shivers crawled up his spine while his stomach flinched slightly within him. He managed to ignore those for the most part, yet the urge curl up and retreat proved much more difficult. 

When Sam spread his fingers apart, each digit pressing down softly into the feathers, discipline cracked under the sharpened shots of electricity. He snapped his wing to him, the other bunching up too as Cas hastily stepped back. A disgusted tingle remained in the feathers, mocking and shaming him. His stomach twisted and bile stung his throat. 

“Oh man,” Worry flowed out quickly from Sam. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, I-” 

“No!” Cas stomach cringed, yet his tongue bristled roughly against his mouth. “My apologizes, you didn’t hurt me, I-” His wings pressed closer to him. “I feel strange. Forgive me, I wasn’t aware that would happen. Perhaps later when I’m more acquainted with my corporal wings you could touch them again?” 

A dry, sticky swallow prickled Cas’s throat, his voice crackled and rose at the end. Sam frowned at him, picking up how tense and clamped he is, and Cas’s shame rose. It was stupid, he had no reason to feel all twitchy. Sam touched his wings, nothing significant happened. Yet apologizes sat on his tongue, needing to be spoken, as Cas couldn’t stop twitching into himself. 

“Maybe you should go back inside Cas, get something to eat and lay down.” 

Cas sighed and forced his wings to relax slightly. “I’ve been laying down for most of the day. I’ve gone through all of the Scream movies today, and Dean didn’t have such a horrible reaction when I touched his wings.” 

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “You touched his wings?” 

“Yes,” Cas grunted, “He actually reacted the opposite from me. Granted I did it with my feathers instead of fingers.” 

“So he relaxed when you touched his wings?” Sam’s eyes bugged out a bit, disbelief airing his words. 

Cas tilted his head at him, wings relaxing a bit more. “He tensed up at first, but relaxed. I didn’t even bother to ask though, assuming it would be fine since-” 

That strange urge came again, wanting to keep something private. No logical reason supported such an urge, yet since there was also no real need for Sam to know either, Cas preferred to keep it to himself. That truck ride, that peaceful silent truck ride, was his, his to treasure. 

“Since?” 

Cas shrugged, glancing away from Sam. “Since he didn’t react in the fields of North Dakota when I accidentally did. I thought it wasn’t problem because of that, like it would be similar to the other limbs.” 

“No offense Cas, but you’re so wrong on that.” Sam chuckled, a playful smirk resting on his face.Sam seemed to have bought the lie, but his eyes shone with understanding that. . . made him happy. Not the reaction Cas hoped for, but it was far from the one he feared. 

“Anyway,” Sam clapped his hands together, “how about we eat?” 

Cas smiled, “I’d like that.” 

Sam smiled back and most of the tension slipped out of Cas’s body. He kept his wings poised, and the spot Sam touched itched terribly, but his unruly response faded mostly away. Hopefully then, with time, no such reaction will happen again. Perhaps that was simply a fluke, the feathers a bit sensitive. 

He knew that to be false, since by now he would have noticed if his wings truly were sensitive, but Cas decided not to think about it further as he descended into the bunker. He got a few wary looks from a trio of hunters talking in the map room, and again, he thought of his angelic life. The rumors about him, suspicions and watchful eyes, all based on something Cas has yet to do. 

Cas shook his head and his wings flicked back, annoyed at his humanness and how right the angels were. He should not be thinking about it though, he had plenty of more pressing issues to think about, yet it kept floating in his mind. Hissing at him when a few days ago he believed that it didn’t exist. 

“I think it’s about time you learned how good a healthy meal can be.” They slipped into the kitchen, boxes of cereal and granola stacked on the fridge and the corner of the counter, and Sam opened the refrigerator. “A salad can be just as good as all the junk food Dean gobbles down, and it’s better for you.” 

“I’m aware of benefits, though neither you nor Dean never had to worry about it.” Cas idly pulled out a couple of glasses, filling them with water. 

“Of course we have to, we’re all human now, aren’t we?” Sam grabbed a bowl, ripping a salad bag open and dumping it in. 

“Certainly,” Cas placed Sam’s glass on the table, but kept his in hand. “Yet whenever I healed you, I did clear any effects of blood pressure or onset of diabetes. Although you do serve a point, despite my healings, my grace couldn’t uplift a body like continuous nutritious eating. I did try, but you’d be surprised at how difficult that is compared to a brain tumor.” 

Sam scoffed, “You healed Dean of his bad eating habits. You’re too good for us Cas.” 

Cas hummed, momentarily thinking of refuting that yet figured the younger Winchester wouldn’t accept that. “Thank you.” 

Gulping down the rest of his drink, he refilled it and almost instantly started to sip at it again. The dryness at the back of his throat refused to go away, and when he finished the next glass, it still remained persistently annoying and dry. So another serving of water filled his glass before Sam handed him a bowl and when to the table. 

“So,” Sam munched and covered his mouth, “What are you and Dean going to do about-” He gestured to his wings, which were much more comfortable sitting on the backless seat than the ground outside. 

“I think I’ll have to teach him how to fly now that he doesn’t have any excess energy overflowing from him.” Cas stabbed at the lettuce and shredded carrots, vinegar and water squeaking quietly against his teeth. 

Sam huffed, “Good luck, his fear of heights might come back.” 

“Well,” Cas drank more water, “As it’s been mentioned to me, Dean can’t exactly drive the Impala. Even once he does learn how to fly, we can only go anywhere if it’s night, which further complicates the issue.” 

Sam lowered his fork, grinning at him. “I dunno, we could always throw the two of you in the back of a truck again. Except you know,” Sam’s eyes crinkled at him, “Dean’ll probably be awake for you to get cozy with.” 

An unfamiliar heat flushed through his face as he straightened up. Despite the glasses of water he drank moments ago, his mouth got a lot drier. Unfortunately, the heat flowed from face down all the way to the tips of fingers, terribly distracting as he struggled to form any words as he tried to get away from that topic. 

“Sam, I don’t think, that wouldn’t be very ideal.” Cas leaned forward, flicking his tongue out to moisten his lips. “Such circumstances would be- why are you laughing? You can’t be serious about such an idea!” 

Sam burst from his snickers and tossed his head back, his laughter not at all helping the burn festering within Cas. In fact, Cas realized, a bit sheepishly, that he must be blushing. He muttered curses under his breath at his Father, blushing suddenly seemed like a horrible trait to give to humans. What purpose did it even serve other than showing how painfully awkward he is right now? 

Grumpily, he bunched his shoulders, wings following suit, and threw a glare at Sam, who chuckled quietly with amusement crinkled up in his face. He chomped down a few bits of salad, refusing to look at Sam or sit there uncomfortably, eating at least gave him something to do. 

“Sorry Cas,” Sam’s spirited tone, utterly lacking anything remorseful, had Cas’s feathers bristling as he shot him another glare. “You’re fun to tease.” 

“I rebuke that.” Cas bit down on another bite of salad, glaring off to the side. 

Sam chuckled again, shaking his head before eating some more of his salad. With a grudging thankfulness, Cas was glad Sam didn’t say anything until the heat retreated and faded away. It took a minute or two, but his wings lowered and relaxed as his shoulders drooped back down. 

“Okay, but if you guys really can’t get transportation figured out-” 

“There is always an option of renting a storage vehicle that could fit us both comfortably.” 

Sam waved his forked around, “You looked plenty comfortable in the truck, not to mention that’s more expensive-” 

“Sam,” That blush slowly crept up again and Cas almost growled when he glared at the Winchester, attempting to repress it. “I recommend stealing more money then.” 

Sam’s grin shot back to life, an arched eyebrow accompanying it. “That’s not very angelic of you Castiel.” 

Ire at his stupid failed angel life broke out, restrain quickly chasing it. He stilled in his seat and clamped his muscles to remain neutral, yet his wings snapped out in a full arch. They hit the ceiling and wall, but Cas barely felt that or his bristling feathers as he struggled to take control. Over and over again he had to remind himself that Sam meant no harm, it was only mirth. No harm meant, only mirth. Only mirth. 

“Cas-?” 

“May I suggest you get to the point of this conversation?” Cas’s wings trembled and inch by inch they slowly lowered, his anger fading at his internal mantra. Sam kept wary and concerned eyes on him, shuffling in his seat and scratching at his neck. 

“I want to do a hunt, a big ol’ Winchester hunt.” Sam’s jaw clenched and relaxed. “You, me, Jack, Mom, and Dean. I don’t really have anything yet, but when you and Dean are ready for something, can you tell me?” 

With eyes closed and a few deep sighs, Cas pried the tension from his muscles. He stayed upright, wings poised, but not the same barely restrained position he was in before. Cas sighed, and he regarded Sam. This time the Winchester did have remorse within his features, and Cas deflated. He rested his head on his hands, rubbing his temples. 

“Yes, of course. My apologizes Sam, a great many things have been-” A bitterness, a reluctance tightened in his throat, and Cas struggled to force the words out. “A few things have reminded me of my past angelic life, most of them frustrating me.” Cas dragged a hand down his face, looking back at Sam. “I’m unsure of what’s prompting it in the first place.” 

“Hey, no sweat,” Sam shrugged, twirling his fork into his salad. “I’d feel pretty stressed if I was one of the last reminding members of my species.” 

Cas drew his head back and blinked at him. He almost wanted to laugh at the idea, at its sheer absurdity. Perhaps there were a few angels that he did wish were still alive, a number he could count on his hands, but, as Dean would say, good riddance to the others. He felt bad that Heaven no longer was no longer stable as it once was, but not about the angels. 

It wouldn’t surprise Cas if the British Men of Letters adopted such strict ‘the end justifies the means’ from the angels. Angels lacked all the morals and traits he’s grown to love so much. They were all voids that snuffed out life and happiness. He was not glad most were dead, but he did find happiness now they were out of his life. Horrible, guilt pressed at his shoulders, yet true. 

“Yes,” Such an easy word compared to explaining the truth. “I wish it wouldn’t happen though.” 

“Well, don’t be too hard on yourself, this is the first time nothing else happened.” Cas leaned towards Sam, and the outside of his wings flicked forward as if to reach to the knowledge. “Not another crisis on the horizon, so anything you’ve been repressing has a nasty habit of waking up with no more looming apocalypses.” 

“Oh.” His wings dropped; Cas doesn’t have a good record with dealing with emotional issues. “How do I get rid of it?” 

Sam narrowed his eyes, tone hard. “You deal with it, instead of shoving it off like a coward. Don’t turn to anything except yourself or other people, you hear me?” 

Cas nodded, holding Sam’s fixed stare. His eyes burned fiercely, Cas sealing his mute promise to the Winchester, swearing not to break it. Despite the determination resolved in his eyes, Sam’s tight jaw showed on desperation. Cas wouldn’t upset Sam, or further intensify this feeling of his, he wouldn’t dare to. 

They finished in relative silence after that, and Cas told Sam that the salad was just as good as the pizza he had earlier. He wouldn’t go so far as better, but the vegetable filled meal satisfied him well, and he promised he wouldn’t adopt Dean’s strict junk food diet. 

Sam sealed the leftovers and put in the fridge as Cas cleaned their bowls. He finished and was drinking another glass of water- 

A cry, panicked and sudden and sharp called out, and he momentarily blinked out of his body when it grabbed at him. He quickly got back in sync, wings already flapping and arms flailing for balance but his legs wobbling. The screech buzzed in his ears and started to yank at him to come to it, through the kitchen counter and the wall, and Cas gritted his teeth to ignore it. It was too close, too potent. 

The cry shrieked again but strangling itself quiet within a second. It didn’t matter much, Cas’s ears rung with it and the yanking never stopped. Cas closed his eyes, ignoring the wobble in his legs, and focused on it. The energy was familiar, something happened to Dean. 

Cas panicked for moment, only for a moment, because in the next moment his wing, specifically the left side of the underside of his secondary coverts, got touched and it sent him reeling. Dean was in trouble and _there were filthy fingers touching his wing!_

Cas growled, forcing himself to center. Dean’s yank didn’t stop but he got control of his body again, muscles eagerly responding to some direction amidst this chaos. He felt Sam’s hand pinning his wing as his other hand supported him up under his right armpit, and Cas drew a sharp breath in about to twist- 

“Sam!” 

Dean’s shout echoed into the kitchen and he appeared in the kitchen’s doorway the next sentence, still bare chested and intimidating. Cas actually forgot about Sam when Dean’s face went from panicked to downright murderous in the span of a second. His bronze and golden wings didn’t snap out, but tensed up behind him, green bursting down them as his eyes lit up. 

“Dean?” Sam’s head swiveled between Cas and Dean, restrained dismay trying to break across his face. “Dean-” 

The lights brightened and Cas snatched his bearings back to him, hissing at Sam. “Let go of me!” 

Sam didn’t need to be told twice and backed out of the way between of him and Dean. His left wing spasmed from that horrid touch, yet Cas didn’t care as he rushed to Dean. The Winchester barely moved, keeping a hard stare fixed at Sam while Cas reached towards his head. Yet even before his fingers brushed over Dean’s skin, he felt the buzz of energy and power running through him, only buzzing stronger when he touched Dean. 

He couldn’t reach out to it though. Without his grace, Cas couldn’t reach Dean’s soul and Dean wasn’t extending himself to him. Cas might have even cursed if he wasn’t muttering pleas instead, Dean called to him and now that he was here, he’s ignored. 

Desperately, the lights started to brighten and flicker again, Cas dug his fingers into Dean, at least trying to get Dean to stop staring at Sam. He heard other people run to the door and stop, the air thickening and heating up, mere moments from bursting. 

Without breaking his stare at Sam, Dean reached up and grabbed Cas’s hands and lowered them. Cas tried to break his grip but could barely twitch his wrists under Dean’s powered grip. 

“Dean,” He hissed, trying not to shatter the silence. “Stop this, look at who you’re glaring at.” 

Dean’s head stayed fixed on Sam, and the only response Cas received was a quick brush of Dean’s wing to his, almost immediately relaxing them by some reason. Yet Dean didn’t let go of Cas, keeping his wrists locked at chest level. 

“Sam,” The lights went out as Dean growled, hesitating to flicker back to life as if scared of upsetting Dean. “Don’t _ever_ do that again.” 

Cas could only assume Sam nodded quickly, because in the very next second, Dean’s burning eyes, his soul’s strength floating out of them, locked onto his. Cas didn’t dare to break the stare, never, but a fine tremble quivered through his wings as he pulled them tight to his back. 

Dean caught the movement, Cas suspected since he couldn’t even be sure if he moved his eyes or not they glowed that brightly, and his grip tightened. Dean’s energy, soul, tugged at him, but the intensity greatly diminished, which hopefully meant he was willingly relaxing rather than simply exhausting his energy. 

“And you,” 

Cas gasped, his body quaking, as Dean’s soul plowed into him. He collapsed to his knees, the flood of Dean’s soul overwhelming him. It streaked with purpose all about him, and Cas kept shaking, unable to stop a swell of fear. It was too familiar to when Dean healed his wings, when he thought Michael was about to kill him. He couldn’t predict this, couldn’t begin to temper it. 

“And you,” 

Blinking up at him, feeling his temples throb with rapid blood, Cas grasped on the physical shape and color of Dean. At least trying to break free from the waves of a foreign entity flooding and drowning him. He didn’t fight back though; he couldn’t fight back. 

“Don’t do this to me.” 

“What?” He croaked, “Dean, please, I don’t understand.” 

Dean’s shoulders dropped and a flare of foreign panic of hit Cas. He focused in on the soul pouring over him. He grabbed at a mere sliver of it and started to wind it up. The desperation fueled idea sparking up hope as his soul condensed and balled up under his guidance. It glowed, brighter and brighter as Cas contained it. 

Gently, as Cas felt his senses numbing out one by one from the onslaught he worked through, he pushed the mostly condensed celestial-charged soul back to Dean. Blinking his eyes up at Dean, he watched the glow fade from his eyes while Cas pried his wrists back. He instantly fell back to sit on his heels, wings drooped out beside him, and an incredulous, very tired smile tugged his lips up once he finally recognized what emotion that made his soul fire out. 

“There’s no need to be afraid.” 

“Cas?” Dean dropped to his knees and held Cas’s shoulders steady, eyes wide and darting around the kitchen. “Dude, buddy, are you alright? Hey, hey! Don’t close your eyes, come on, it’s not nap time yet. Just stay up for a few moments longer. Come on Cas, _stay awake_.” 

A sharp inhale pierced his lungs, two words almost humming in his wings as sight swims into focus. He glanced at Dean, then to the doorway. Sam, Jack, and some other hunters stood there, and he wouldn’t need to see clearly to know the suspicion and fear trickling into their faces. He didn’t need to see to know Dean’s wings are stiffening self-consciously despite whatever passive expression he has on. 

He rose his voice, clearing it and trying to sound assured in his explanation. “Dean, I told you, don’t let your soul unravel. It’s so hard to contain it again, so hard to contain it. You could’ve blown out the power.” 

Cas’s eyes dipped down again, words tumbling from his lips. “I blame you for this. You and your foolish self-doubts. You don’t need to worry. No need, no reason, just. . .” 

His head pitched forward, one of Dean’s hands leaving his shoulder to support his head. Despite as he may try, he couldn’t find the will to keep them open. 

“I expect another sand, sandwich. . .” Cas yawned, yawned his way into straight sleep. 

Waking up was dreadful. 

His fingers twitched, stiff and sore, and everywhere felt bloated with the same tinge of numbness. He opened his eyes, yet his eyelids only got about halfway up and everything came in fuzzy. Cas figured he needed more sleep, sleep was good. Yet it stubbornly faded away from him, so Cascontented himself with simply laying there, pulling air into his lungs then letting it slide out. 

“Look man,” Dean’s muffled declare came from the hallway, right outside the door. “I. Do not.Know what happened. It was some blown-out-of-proportion emotion that took over, okay? That’s it. I got the reins back on now.” 

“Dean, come on, Cas said your soul unraveled. It’s great that it’s not really you, but a lot of people here are tense. And who can blame them? It’s like you’re a ticking time bomb!” Sam’s voice rose, almost pleading. 

“I never actually hurt anyone!” 

“You made the lights flicker! I can’t tell you how many people thought you hurt Cas before he spoke up.” There was a pause, and Cas closed his eyes as he imagined Sam running a hand through his hair. “You’re walking on eggshells right now. I want to help you, I really do Dean, but I can’t when none of us really even know what’s happening to you.” 

“Cas can fix it; he always fixes it.” Dean claim edged into aggression, almost making Cas consider getting up to dissolve the problem. Yet, the door really was far away, and his muscles urged him to stay still. 

“He can’t if he’s unconscious! You can’t keep expecting him to fix everything. He’s tired Dean, can’t you see that? Not only is he trying to figure all of this out too, but he says he keeps getting reminded of his old life as an angel. And to top it all off, Cas doesn’t even have any grace to run off right now.” 

Dean, Cas imagined, crossed his arms, probably with an angry snarl on his face. “I’ll make sure he’s alright. Nothing’s going to happen to him.” 

“Are you sure you can make such a promise?” 

“I will _obliterate_ anything that so much touches him.” A deep growl buzzed through the door, and Cas felt a little tug at him. 

Cas couldn’t hear it through the door, but he suspected Sam sighed as he could barely hear the soft words that came next. “What if it’s you Dean? What if you’re the one that ends up hurting him?” 

“I would never. Come on Sammy, even when I go out-of-control, I know Cas is only trying to help me.” 

“Maybe someone else should do what he does. Like, y’know, balancing your soul or whatever. That way-” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Dean-” 

“No one else is going to touch my soul!” Dean yelled, “It’s not happening!” 

“You might not get a choice! If Cas isn’t around or-” 

“I’ll make sure to always be near the guy then. It’s better than letting someone like Rowena have to touch me, have her-” Dean cut off, the disgust in his voice dripping through the door. 

“Well,” Sam meekly continued, “Someone other than her could.” 

“Yeah right. I’m willing to bet only an angel and a witch know how to handle a soul.” There was pause, and the air stilled in Cas’s lungs. “I appreciate you trying Sam, but it’s Cas or no one. Now go do whatever it is you do with all those strangers.” 

“Dean-” 

The door opened, “Go Sam.” 

And it shut. 

He heard Dean sigh, dragging a chair over to him. It was silent for a long time, yet no urge to open his eyes came. Cas did feel bad about it, seeing how worried Dean was, but Sam wasn’t wrong. He felt tired. The very bones of his vessel aching under the stress they’ve had to endure. If Cas opened his eyes, Dean would speak to him. As selfish as it is, Cas didn’t want to. He wanted to lay here in the silence. 

Even when Dean threaded his fingers through Cas’s wings, he kept his eyes closed. A soft sigh may have slipped out of him, a comforting warmth blooming from that wing, but Dean never accused him of being awake. He knew it how greedily selfish it was, but he felt too relaxed to really even care. 

Soon, the hunger that refuses to stay sated for long rumbled through his stomach. Reluctantly, he blinked his eyes open and licked his dry lips. Dean’s fingers stilled with an inhale, and Cas nudged his wing up into his hand. Perhaps it wasn’t selfish at all, only fair, seeing how Cas has pet Dean two times now. 

“You stupid sonofabitch, you had me worried.” Dean’s fingers curled into his wing, the feathers buzzing, pleased. Yet a festering warmth bled through his body as the fingers tightened too much, and Cas suppressed the urge to flinch away. 

“How long was I asleep?” 

“Three hours give or take, but I think a few of my feathers have fallen out in that time.” Dean frowned at him, “Are they supposed to do that?” 

“It correlates with stress.” Cas twitched his wing as the warmth grew into a stronger, panicked heat, and eventually Dean got the message to stop grabbing it, but alas, he also pulled his hand away. Cas grumbled, but didn’t say anything. Heat faded and an unpleasant cold took its place. 

“Hmph, if you say so.” Dean clear his throat, scratching his neck. “So let’s just get to it, my soul unraveled?” 

Cas sighed, “It expanded, but it wasn’t falling apart. I merely said the first words that came to mind. Everyone looked tense.” 

Dean waited, probably for a longer explanation, but Cas languidly noted that he wore a bathrobe. The back of it bunched up at his shoulders, but most of it draped down far enough along the sides to cover most of his chest, his stomach sometimes showing when moved. The drowsy thought of Dean finally wearing something over his chest drifted in his head as Cas’s gaze wandered and landed on the sandwich on the nightstand. His stomach rumbled mutely as he gazed at the tall glass of water resting aside it. 

“Um, okay, gonna give me more than that?” 

“No,” He grumbled, his left arm muscles twitched awake and began to ache in his attempts to move it. He must’ve used any grace recovering within him earlier. “Not until you tell me why you panicked.” 

“That’s not important.” 

Cas snapped away from the food, glaring at Dean. “Your soul sent out a distress signal straight at me. I couldn’t even stand, if Sam didn’t grab my wing to stabilize me, I probably wouldn’t have been coherent enough to do anything.” 

“Sam,” Dean’s wings flared out to the sides, one crashing into the wall before he got himself under control. “What- Are you glad he grabbed you?” Dean’s tone darkened, eyes brightening dangerously with his soul. “Are you fu-” 

“No!” Cas spat, a strong streak defense coiled with disgust. “It was vile!” 

The memory surged and his wings shuddered. He ripped his gaze away from Dean’s, claws of bile and shame digging at his throat, while the handful of feathers Sam grabbed rubbed together as they felt so itchy and _dirty_. Even when he simply petted one of his wings, a gentle touch, prickles ran down the edge of his wing to remind him of that disgusting touch. 

He clamped his jaw shut, the string of explanations trying to all weasel their way out at once denied. He should not be ashamed! Dean was the one who caused the whole thing in the first place. Regardless, Sam did touch him beforehand, yet that wasn't anything that of import either. Sam was simply curious. 

Cas inhaled and exhaled deeply, ready to spring the question onto Dean again, when inquisitive fingers danced onto his secondaries, which, since he unfortunately had owl shaped wings, were almost as wide as his primaries as Dean’s hand dragged all over them. Sparks flew off and straight through into Cas’s limbic system. The poor sensitive nerves overwhelmed and confused and tingling when those dancing fingers skimmed up to his alula, abusing the coverts. When they dug into marginal coverts, flares of heat and electricity burst through him, yelping at him, demanding him to act. 

Cas whimpered, so unable to stop it; he couldn’t move to prevent the fingers from touching him.Heat shimmered inside, and he distantly understood, despite being impossible for a healthy heart, why humans claim their heart skip a beat, as Cas’s heart jumped unnecessarily strong for him laying down. He wanted to pull away from this intrusion and yet felt so drawn to it as it coursed through his blood. He welcomed the touch and yet felt overwhelmed too. 

“Liar.” The fingers hastily retreated, venom dripping from Dean. “That didn’t seem very disgusting to you at all.” 

Cas scowled, cold seizing him where only heat resided a second ago, scattering all sensations.“It’s different. I respond differently to your touch compared to Sam’s, it’s another curious oddity of my most recently corporal limbs.” 

“Yeah,” Dean snorted, “Because Sam’s fingers are toxic to feathers.” 

“What are you so angry about right now?” Cas glared at Dean, taking note of the ridged wings held at his back, quite a defensive stance that Castiel used when dealing with many angels. 

Dean said nothing, glaring right back at Castiel. His wings grew tenser, feathers shifting slightly against each other. Cas kept his eyes on him, not even when the glow began to come back to Dean’s eyes. If Dean’s emotions constantly burst out of his own control, then Cas will pry them out of Dean so he can fix them before it creates a problem. Regardless of Dean’s consent. 

“Dean,” Cas softened, showing concern rather than anger. “How do you expect me to help you when I don’t know the extent, or even the foundation, of the problem?” 

Dean’s lips scrunched up, and his gaze darted a second away before landing on Cas again. “I dunno man. I just, it’s stupid, I know it’s stupid. I have no right to feel this way at all. I shouldn’t-” 

“What do you feel?” 

“I know it’s wrong, but-” Dean’s wings curled in a bit as they slumped down- “I hate that Sam touched your wings because, well I think it has to do something about-” 

Cas sat up, discomfort from wings and body ignored. “If you don’t think you can explain it, you can show me.” 

“No, it’s not that complicated. I just,” Dean lowered his eyes. “I just feel like no one else can touch your wings because only I can do that.” Slightly wide eyes snapped back up to his. “I know that’s horrible to say. Your wings are your own Cas, I know what I said doesn’t make sense, but I’ll deal with that. I think it’s because I healed them or something? I don’t know, but still, don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with it.” 

“You dealing with emotions usually involves repressing them rather than actually dealing with them.” 

“So my track record isn’t stellar, I’m not some chick.” 

“Females, from what I’ve gathered, can hide their emotions just as well as males.” 

“Whatever man, I’ll make sure it doesn’t become a problem.” 

“It’s not a problem.” Cas managed to suppress his smile into a slight smirk when Dean’s confused face peered suspiciously down at him. For a man who’s had to figure out how to break into buildings, find advantages in a fight constantly, assess threats, and could build machinery from almost anything, Dean took his time to understand. 

“Why?” Was Dean’s very intellectual response. 

“No one else will be allowed to touch my wings.” Cas tilted his head at Dean, not bothering to hide his smile. “I believe I just told you how vile it was when Sam touched my wings, do you really think I would seek out such stimuli?” 

“I suppose not.” Dean only let out a little sigh, but his wings flared up and fluttered a bit before relaxing at his back. Dean threw a scowl at them and Cas failed his half-hearted attempt to quell a chuckle. 

“Anyway Dean,” Cas flickered his attention to the food briefly as his hunger spiked. “That doesn’t explain the distress you aimed at me.” 

“It’s even more stupid.” 

“Was it for the right reasons though?” 

Dean huffed; a smile quirked up. “Kinda I guess. I panicked a bit when I didn’t know where you were when I woke up and it just exploded. I didn’t mean to cause a panic, I just couldn’t-” 

Dean snapped his mouth shut, frustration passing over his face briefly at his slight ramble before he gestured at the nightstand on the other side of Cas. “As requested, I did make you a sandwich. Cranberry jam this time, because apparently these guys have to replace jam frequently when there’s plus twenty hunters or so who haven’t had jam for like, half a century it seems like.” 

Cas turned and picked up the sandwich, satisfied with Dean’s answers. “Despite being hunters, this place for them is the most luxurious experience they’ve had since war between demons and angels in their world.” 

“Yeah, I hope a few of them still manage to get out of it though.” Dean sighed, “Out of everyone, they deserve the apple pie life.” 

“Perhaps this is their version of an apple pie life.” Cas bit into the sandwich, grinning at its taste. Soon, he should try burgers again. Oh, they must be divine with a human tongue. 

Dean grunted, “Yeah, whatever. Now come on, you still aren’t properly acquainted with horror movies. You have to have a broad spectrum to truly appreciate the masterpiece you’re seeing in a couple days.” 

Cas took the bait, “Which is?” Cas then took another bite, almost sighing in relief when his hunger ebbed a bit. 

“Hatchet Man, a marathon of all of them.” Dean grinned down at him, eyes crinkling up. “We’re waiting for Mom to finish up her hunt with Bobby then it’ll be a Winchester movie day. Finally get to use the Dean Cave properly.” 

Cas swallowed and frowned, “Isn’t that where we got sucked into that animated world? With Shaggy and the talking dog Scooby?” 

“Don’t worry, I’ve replaced the tv.” Dean walked to the foot of the bed, pressing buttons on the remote to manipulate the screen. “Oh hey, Poltergeist is on. Don’t expect it to be much like the real thing, but it’s entertaining.” 

Cas nodded, unsure if he’s agreeing not to expect much or confirming that he suspects it will be entertaining, but it should be fine since both have truth. He scooted over on the bed, cramming more sandwich into his mouth as he watched the tv. 

Dean sighed but Cas cut him off, “We’ve already established this is fine. Do you wish to repeat that process again?” 

“Since when have you been this sarcastic?” Dean grumbled but complied. Cas huffed, and surprised himself when he rolled his eyes, before digging into his sandwich again. After finishing it and gulping down the water, both him and Dean tried to settle comfortably. 

“Hey,” Dean wormed next to him, “Do you have something in your pocket?” 

Cas glanced at him and frowned. He reached for his inside pocket, his frown deepening at what he forgot in there. His fingers wrapped around the mixtape, a small miracle it was still there, and pulled it out. It sat innocently within his fingers, as if it never tortured grace and body alike, as if the songs on it never broke Cas down when not even the Great Fall did such a thing so intensely. 

“You’ve kept that thing on you this whole time?” Dean scoffed, and though he didn’t smile, the curl of his wings towards Cas was nothing meant nothing bad. 

“I couldn’t bear to part myself with it,” Cas smiled and set it delicately on the nightstand. “It linked me to you, and while it will always be precious to me, I don’t quite need it so much now that you’re here.” 

The look Dean gave him warmed every part of Cas, he knew that even his grace would be completely affected with it. It was a bit abashed, in a shy sort of way after being caught by indulging in something secretive, yet Dean looked at him as if he prized everything about him. Tendrils of his soul, warm and soft, slipped into him and curled around him as Dean settled back down. 

Neither of them said anything else about it, laying in the warmth swirling between them. Dean’s wing spread and brushed over his chest, the golden sunshine feathers blanketing him. Cas supposed his neck did ache faintly once the first movie finished and the next one played, as they were laying down with the pillows being their only support up to see the screen, but Cas didn’t care in the slightest. 

He fell in love with the peace and warmth tethering him with Dean. 


	5. Angel Tending, Hopefully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, whoopsie, kinda fumbled with this. The first part of this chapter was actually supposed to be a part of the last chapter, so I added it on the end. Kinda should read that part first, reading things in order tends to be a good idea. Sorry for messing it up, but I just want to make it is read before continuing.

Dean worried when Cas fell asleep during the second movie. 

Cas, first off all, only ever slept when he was human, and that one time before Sam locked Lucifer in his cage. So watching him sleep, even more than what’s normal for a human, unnerved him. Who knows what could be wrong with him? He always seems so tired when Dean connects, or whateverit is he does, to him. Is it the wings? 

He sighed, Sam’s stupid words replaying in his head. Perhaps soul handling takes its toll, it wouldn’t if Cas was a full-blown angel like when he took all of Purgatory’s souls, but now Cas has fumes of his grace, maybe less. Dean had no idea the sort of effort it takes to control a, well, an out-of-control soul. 

Fanged guilt snapped at him, growling as he glanced over at Cas. He should give Cas a break, let someone else deal with the mess that was Dean Winchester’s soul. Yet the mere thought sent a rebellious shudder down his feathers. He trusted Cas with his soul, knew he would take the upmost care with him, while someone else would wet themselves at the chaotic nature of a hell-ragged grace-infused human soul. 

Screw it, Dean killed the last Knight of Hell and Cain while trying to fight off the Mark of Cain. Cas would be the only one messing with his soul, no one else gets to touch him with their dirty suspicious fingers, and Dean will go the whole nine yards to make that go as smooth as possible. He’d even eat rabbit food if that’s what it took. 

However, after leaning close to peer at Cas, Dean saw that taking care of Cas as the bigger issue. His nose flared, and he caught a whiff of the smell surrounding Cas. He smelt dusty, maybe a bit of a tang he couldn’t put his finger on, but Cas needed to shower without his mojo cleaning him up for him. Dean glanced at his robe, after strutting around shirtless, he could probably do with a shower too. 

Wings were a problem, the thought of them making him aware of a light itch through them,maybe they’d have to work something out. Cas or Sam probably has some idea on how to handle such a thing, Dean had no idea. Yet once he does, Dean would take it upon himself to make sure Cas washed himself every freaking day and serve Cas a fucking three course meal to make sure Cas keeps his soul in check. He doubted Cas would make him do that, at least he hoped so anyway, but Dean knew to be prepared for anything. 

Who knows what someone needs or craves for after handling a soul? 

Sleep definitely seemed to be on the top of that list. 

Dean idly watched the movie, and soon enough, the ending was approaching, yet he barely noticed. In the middle of scowling of himself for being so tired when he woke up not five hours ago, he yawned. Dean shook his head; he was a hunter goddamnit! He has gone days without sleeping and he definitely got enough hours today. He could stay up to watch a freaking movie. After just worrying about Cas’s sleeping schedule, he needed to keep himself in the game. 

Persistently, Dean undoubtedly felt that press on his eyelids. He heard whatever background effects of the movie, and they died out in his head. He argued with Sam for much too long and the wee little nap he had earlier did nothing. Since there was no big bad stomping about trying blow down houses, it couldn’t hurt if he slept a bit more. 

They’d figure out shit tomorrow. 

He was laughing. 

The ocean expanded beneath some sort of cliff they were on, a blur of red and oranges, and the sun still burned bright and blinding, but he didn’t care. The Impala underneath him, a beer bottle in his hand with Sammy lounging next to him. Cas leaned onto his Baby on the other side of him, standing but head tipped back in a full laugh. 

“Good one Jack,” Sam tilted his bottle to the teenager sitting on the cliff’s edge, “World’s youngest comedian.” 

“Humor, I think it best happens when it’s unintentional. Organic.” Jack turned to them with a big smile, just briefly before facing that sunset again. 

Sam chuckled, and Dean simply smiled and leaned back onto the window, waiting for the stars to come out. Sam started to laugh harder, busting up laughing as the sky rapidly darkened, stars never showing. Dean faced Sam, the scenery behind him darkening too as Dean only heard his laugh. Sam’s face blackened too until only his poorly contained snickers remained. 

Dean jolted awake, eyes popping open to the light. Sam laughed somewhere and Dean quickly sat up, ready to scold Sam for waking him up and what was so goddamn funny, when a chill swept up through his back. He would have covered it up just fine if it weren’t for a shudder to go down the stupid feathers closest to his back. Stupid wing reflexes, he should be able to control those. 

“What the hell do you want?” Dean snapped, “I had a good dream going on ‘til you interrupted it.” 

Sam’s shit-eating grin only widened, eyebrows waggling. “What kind of good dream?” 

Refusing to acknowledge Cas still asleep beneath him, Dean glared as he held trembling wings in check. “A normal one. Now drop it, this never comes up again.” 

“Ha!” Sam shook his head and Dean had half a mind to stand up to slap that grin off. “You and Cas, you guys are just so easy to tease about it.” 

“Tease about what?” 

“No no, I’m honoring your wishes to drop it. I won’t speak another word of it.” 

“Screw you bitch.” 

Sam snorted, “Well for your information, _jerk_ , I’m going into town with Jack, show him how to shop, so is there anything you need?” 

Dean clamped down on his jaw, wings twitching. He wanted to get so jacked up on either meds or get so drunk that he could cut off these stupid wings. Then Dean could be the one showing Jack the ropes of behind human instead of being some human sized bird caged up and unable to go into public. Then Dean could at least have some normalcy back after Michael dragged him around who knows. 

“We’re going to need a lot of popcorn, Cas’s stomach is basically a pit and pile up with those fancy butters and salts. We’re going to do the Winchester movie marathon justice.” Dean arched an eyebrow. “We do have plenty of beer and pie, right?” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Always.” 

“I dunno Sammy, you have forgotten the pie-” 

“I won’t forget your damn pie Dean. Do you think Cas might want anything?” 

“Hmm,” Dean sent a quick glance at Cas, “Get the guy a water bottle, he’s been downing a lot of water. Other than that, we’re good. Although invest in a razor man, when’s the last time you’ve shaved?” 

“Hey, I’ve been told I look good like this.” Sam ran a hand over his stubble actually growing into something, ignoring Dean’s scowl. 

“Long hair and facial hair? I refuse to see you become a hippie Sam, it’s not happening.” 

“It’s not your hair.” Sam’s smug little grin came back. “Besides, Mom even approves of it.” 

“Mom is technically only slightly older than us, her tastes haven’t gotten with the times yet. She’d agree with me if she’s been here longer.” 

“Whatever, you don’t have to explain it to me Dean, I know you’re jealous.” 

Dean snorted, almost giving into the urge to fall back onto Cas. “You wish.” 

“I know so.” Sam headed out the door, pausing for a second. “I’m also showing Jack a few more things in town, so we’ll get back tonight, but in the morning when Mom should be getting back, we can start your marathon thing.” 

“Mom’s coming back so soon? What was she hunting?” 

“We thought demons in a town a few hours from here, but turned out to be someone messing with witchery. Mom said they were pretty inexperienced, told me she barely even considered it a hunt, and swept it up real quick and got the police to lock them up for a bit.” 

“Well, sweet, that sounds all good to me.” 

“Cool,” Sam patted the door and walked out, "See you later.” 

“See ya!” 

The door shut and Dean held himself up for about minute before falling back into Cas. He was unfairly warm, especially to someone who couldn’t wear a shirt because of stupid wings. Besides, he felt pretty confident that he had less than an hour of sleep before Sam barged in. The same movie was on that he fell asleep to. 

Dean didn’t want to fall asleep again, he felt awake, but didn’t want to move, which sucked due to how awake he felt. He was comfy , and with anyone it would be awkward, but Cas practically encouraged him to lay down on his wing. Cas, if there’s one certainty in the world then it’s this, Cas doesn’t even care about it. He probably considered it practical to be so close in case Dean has another soul flare. 

He formed of list of possible things to do. Most had him getting up, ugh , but even then, he didn’t want to do them. Walking around in bunker to find something to do was stupid, not with all the people and his wings. He could wash the cars, but Sam probably wants to use the Impala- oh if there is a scratch on Baby he’s gonna serve Sam a reckoning- and it doesn’t seem worth it. He could make Cas another sandwich, but Sam told him earlier that a hunter- Linda?- came in and she’ll be making dinner. 

After checking the time on the tv, dinner would be done by now. At seven thirty, the food might be a bit cold, but then no one would be around to bug Dean. Maybe with something in his stomach he might actually do something good so he won’t be constantly watched like some ticking time bomb. 

Carefully, Dean got off of Cas without waking him. About two steps to the door, he turned around and shook his shoulders. Cas deserved to eat something better than pizza and his sandwiches, this might be his only chance if Linda hunter leaves soon for another hunt. Dean smiled a bit when Cas sleepily swatted at him, lips moving soundless. 

Call it a hunch, but Dean was sure Cas would get up for food. 

“Dean?” Cas blinked and sharply inhaled, bolting upright so fast Dean barely backed up in time.“Is something wrong? Do you need me to-” 

“Cas geez, nothing’s wrong.” Dean jerked a thumb over to the door. “I heard someone made dinner, thought you might want some.” 

On cue, Cas’s stomach rumbled. He frowned, still breathing heavily, maybe unsettled or embarrassed at such a sound and got up. Dean started walking out, thinking Cas would follow, but the dude instead hit him forward with his wing. The wing actually felt quite nice, so unbelievably soft as it hit him, but it almost made Dean stumble. Nothing should make Dean stumble so easily. 

“Dude! What the heck?” He threw a glare over his shoulder, huffing and turning around at the sight of Cas stretching. His wings brushed against the wall and ceiling, somehow taking care not to make anything fall, as he rolled and extended his other joints. Dean’s anger slipped out of him, he couldn’t be mad if Cas’s wings moved on their own accord, not when Dean dealt with the same thing. 

“Apologizes, I didn’t mean to hit you.” Cas stood beside him, always closer than a normal person even if it didn’t feel like an intrusion of his personal bubble. “I get the inexplicable urge to stretch when I waken.” 

“Yeah, that’s normal. Everyone gets it.” Dean shrugged and headed out the door, his own stomach ready for food. 

“I rarely see you stretch.” Cas followed in pace, walking beside him. Dean gave him a look before facing forward, he hasn’t decided if the brief touches of their wings were good or not. 

“I’ve never been much of a stretcher, Sam does some yoga crap every once and while, but teenagers stretch all the time.” Good, that little brush Cas’s wing just did against his, that was definitely a good thing. 

“Why?” 

“All their growing muscles and shit. Shoulda seen Sam, the kid sprouted like a weed his Sophomore year.” Dean clicked his tongue. “Probably doesn’t help that kids are stuck inside sitting all day.” 

“They play sports, do they not?” Cas tilted his head him briefly, frowning. 

“Well yeah, that’s still about six or so hours of sitting listening to some teacher drone on about math or some other useless thing. I sure as heck hated being cooped up and bored out of my mind like that.” 

“Math is useful. It is the basis of which the world works off of. The ability to consciously calculate and recognize such patterns is what sets humans apart from the rest of the animal kingdom.” 

Dean sighed, “Cas, how is knowing the quadratic formula useful in someone’s day to day life?” 

“Oh,” Cas huffed, and Dean felt his wings drop at the sound. “While the quadratic formula is certainly useful for projectiles, I assumed such classes would teach statistics and probability.” 

“That seems just as boring.” Dean angled his wings in and down, determined not to let them catch again. They didn’t thankfully, but there was a faint itch that was strongest at the ends, but Dean pushed that aside. 

“You use probability all the time, I think it’s most commonly used in bets within American society, however, statistics is use primary to collect and interpret data. The angels always needed scribes to do this and knowing how to arrange data in order to use it is tremendously useful.” 

Dean snorted and opened the fridge. “Well, if only they taught that instead.” 

“Yes, it would be beneficiary.” 

Dean pulled out the pot, peering through the glass lid and seeing some type of soup. He kicked the fridge door shut, smiling triumphantly at Cas. Cas smiled back at him behind the counter and Dean’s grin grew. Dean plopped the pot in front of him, quickly turning to get out some bowls and cups, and then his stupid wings ruined the mood. 

They did this flutter thing and his bottom feathers lifted up, first amplifying that jolt of triumph, then frustrating him as the wings extended and hit against the counter. Not to mention Cas had a perfect view of that, that’s just perfect. At least Cas wouldn’t tease him about it like Sam. 

Dean cleared his throat, looking down at the lid as he took it off. “So how much do you want?” 

“Uh, just a serving. Please.” 

While scooping, Dean glanced up at Cas’s detached tone. Cas was staring at his wings, a little perplexed frown on his face, as his wings opened up about halfway. Somewhat flatten as to not reach above his head, the feathers ruffling together in just the right way to create a soft whisper, like the wind was singing shyly. 

By God, Dean almost yelped. 

His wings snapped out, and a rush of dizzying heat surged inside him as a shaky smile rose up at the pleasure blooming from it. His feathers were scrapping against the walls, and that stung, but they kept on fluttering as a chuckle bubbled from his stomach. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t hope to begin to stop it. Everything is good! Everything is great! 

“Dean?” 

Dean tipped his head back and laughed, the light glowed on him and his skin prickled with it. He felt like just got out of Purgatory and true sunlight finally hit his skin again. Yet this time Cas was here, Cas was here to feel the sun too. Nothing to worry about, nothing to fight, and the peace erupted and rose through him. They were free, free from all of that misery! 

“Dean!” 

Tears welled up in Dean’s eyes, and while he closed them, he didn’t even fucking care if he cried. He felt great! Beyond great, a sort of bliss and euphoria all mix into one like if he finally found the meaning of life after searching and studying for it for decades of his life. It was all right there, finally in his grasp even if he didn’t understand what to do with it yet. He had it, he would make sure they always will have it. 

Two hands grabbed onto his face and when he opened his eyes again, glorious sparks bursting around Cas’s. Gold sparkled in blue eyes and Dean tipped over, clutching onto Cas’s hands as he felt everything overflowing out of him and towards that brilliant blue. How come he never notice how brilliant that blue is? How come he hasn’t noticed how everything is so brilliant and glorious? 

Something began to suppress his joy, it slipping out of his grasp and he struggled against it. He had to keep it, damn him if he loses this after he just got it! He drew himself tighter and pulled back from whatever invader messing with him. He dug into his joy, because goddamnit it’s his! No one, nothing on this Earth, is going to take it from him! 

_Dean. . ._ It resonated through him, blue threatening to wash out his happiness, and Dean tried to shut it out, yet still, his joy faded. , _Let me in._

Dean gave in. He sighed and peeled his eyes open, bracing himself for when his window of euphoria closes. He stiffened, digging into what he realized as Cas’s hand tendons, the little bastard smiling, almost hard to see in the darkness, as he dug around in Dean. 

A pleased little moan hummed through his chest as a calmer peace soothed out the blinding joy. Cas, the bugger, pulled some out of Dean and then his smile grew. Now that Dean had a grip on himself again, instead of riding a high that would make even the most stoned jealous, he felt Cas’s wiry being slip and poke through him with ease, still giving him the impression of a strong brilliant blue. 

Dean relaxed, letting Cas do his thing. Technically, at this point, Dean had a proper grip on the steering wheel and Cas could leave. Yet everywhere Cas went, a sense that faintly tingled in his toes, sent vibrations through his wings. As Cas moved through his emotions, feathers in the top of his wings buzzed. Even when Dean pried his hands off of Cas’s, the awkwardness of what to do with them was swept away by Cas, which felt awfully close to if someone ran a hand over the top of his wings. 

Cas dug a little deeper, and the mere hum shot down to the feathers near his back, throbbing. Dean’s heart thumped and he sucked in a deep breath, hanging there as Cas did his thing. He really shouldn’t push him off anyway, Cas probably was trying to do something. Knowing Cas, it was also probably important. So Dean will let him, no biggie. 

One hand left, the one on the left side of his face, and Dean squinted to follow it. Ignoring the slight puff in his wings, which Cas soothed viva soul within him again, he saw the hand extended up. A spike of innocent pride, flaring up those feathers at the top of Dean’s wings, buzzed off of Cas. 

“Let there,” The light bulbs flickered on, revealing Cas’s happy eyes and full smile. “Be light.” 

Dean glanced up, frowning at the lights. “How’d they turn off anyway?” 

Cas huffed, his mirth humming before he pulled out. “You blew them.” 

“Oh,” Dean quickly shuffled and tightened his wings, refusing to pay any mind to the emptiness Cas always left when his angel soul pulled away. “Thanks for fixing that man.” 

“You’re welcome,” Cas stepped back as the smile eased away, “I believe you were serving me soup?” 

Dean snorted and set himself to the task. “You’ll want to nuke it, it’s pretty cold.” 

“That’s extreme,” Cas took his bowl and Dean served himself. “And we don’t have- oh, the microwave. Right.” 

Dean smirked, moving away to give Cas room. “Only took you about a decade to get used to our human terms.” 

“In fairness,” The microwave buzzed behind Cas’s stoic face. “The first few years I was struggling to accomplish Heavenly duties and new emotions, which then transitioned into the Leviathans bursting out of me. While I had amnesia, and immediately afterwards mentally unstable, I didn’t have time to truly comprehend it. Then Purgatory and Naomi’s. . .” 

Cas’s eyes darkened, his face hardening despite very few of his muscles moving. He spun away from Dean when the microwave beeped, still not facing Dean as he took his bowl out, grabbed Dean’s, and placed it in the microwave. Keeping his back turned, he filled the two cups up with water and handed Dean’s to him without actually turning around. Dean rolled his eyes at his back, he refused to let Cas be some party pooper with his good mood. 

“Y’know, I’m pretty jealous.” Dean sipped his water, briefly wishing for some beer. 

“Of what?” 

“I have a much harder keeping my wings from staying still.” Dean smirked when Cas’s black wings tensed up and relaxed real quickly. “Especially when there’s something that’s ticking me off.” 

“It’s nothing.” Cas pulled Dean’s bowl from the microwave, finally turning around to give it to him. His face didn’t reveal too much, a stranger might assume Cas wasn’t even annoyed, but the hard stare Cas gave Dean, showed layers of hate that were carefully kept away from the light of the freshly rebuilt light bulbs. 

“Bull, come on-” 

“I’m sorry,” Cas walked to the table, setting his bowl and cup down, but stayed standing. “Since when do you ever want to talk about what’s bothering you?” 

“Well, _in fairness_ , you’ve been doing an awful lot of rummaging through my emotions lately.” Dean joined him at the table, but he sat down and grinned up at Cas until he begrudgingly did as well. 

Cas only gave him a blank stare, “The sheer magnitude of your soul encases me, you could easily rummage through me if you wanted.” 

“Oh yes, I’ve been wanting to do that, except y’know, I don’t want to obliterate you when I try.” Dean scooped up some of the soup, the potato tasting all bland and dreary. 

“I don’t see how your lack of knowledge pertains to my supposed failure of not being open enough.” Cas narrowed his eyes. 

Dean clenched his jaw, both in an increasing frustration and in the effort to keep his wings just as still as Cas’s. “What could be so earth shattering that you can’t tell me? Are you trying to keep the fact there’s a catch to this whole almost-happy-ending we got?” 

“Of course not, the only issue in front of us is handling our wings and any soul fluctuations. Nothing more.” Cas shifted his glare, and the bowl of soup would have exploded by now if Cas had a mere shard of grace left. 

“Okay, then what’s eating you?” 

“Can you drop it?” Cas’s wings flared out, fury burning in his eyes before quickly dropping them back to the bowl and struggling to pull his wings back in. 

A thick silence followed. Dean had the itch to get up and leave, yet instead stayed and ate the soup. He fidgeted though, a feather would twitch while his leg bounced up and down. Cas glared down at his bowl, stiller than statue. Hatred, all of it pouring on his untouched soup, tweaked and tugged at his face before he could stamp it out. 

When his wings started to tremble, just a fine little shake that would last a second, stop for another few, and then happen again, Dean tsked. Cas didn’t even look up, only a half second frown showed he heard at all. Dean, purposefully and reflexively, flicked his wings back, scowling at Cas. 

“You plan on taking your hate out on the soup?” 

Slowly, Cas lifted his glare to Dean. He didn’t say anything, but he grabbed the bowl and brought it to lips. Not even breaking eye contact, he began to drink it. Dean held it as Cas tipped the bowl further back, then his head to get it all. Not removing the bowl at all, even when he had to tip it so far back that the bowl blocked their glaring contest. 

Dean clenched his jaw, concern shimmering underneath his anger. Can’t Cas see he’s gonna hurt himself? The stupid angel probably forgot that there’s this thing called breathing and choking. One’s really important to always do and one’s really important to never do, but of course, mister angel will just inhale his food and expect it to be fine. 

It took another half minute, but Cas set the bowl back on the table and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Before Dean could say anything else, Cas started to gulp down the water. Massive gulps that drained the glass in mere seconds, his Adam’s apple bobbing rapidly. 

“I have been around longer before the potato family existed.” Cas’s wings, if not extended, rose higher up. “Did you know angels ridiculed humanity the first time they ate roots? It wasn’t intended for God’s special species, just the creatures that wormed through the dirt. Yet root vegetables have been extremely popular ever since they’ve been dug out of the ground.” 

Dean leaned down on his elbows. “Your point?” 

Cas sighed, wings inching back down. “Once they finished laughing, they looked at me.” 

He stood, gathering up the dishes and striding towards the dishwasher. Dean was on the verge of whining about Cas being vague and can’t he just spit it out, when Dean did another glance at his wings. Cas’s face might not be an indicator, but lowest feathers on his wings dragged over the floor. Dean puffed out the words, deciding to push it off. For now, at least. There’s no way he’d let go of this forever. 

“Okay then, now that you’re fed, do you want to do anything?” Dean stood and stretched, wings brushing against the walls. “I’m sure my guns need cleaning and-” 

“We should practice flying. It might-” 

“Hell no. Being on some massive soul-grace high is one thing. But absolutely not, my feet are staying on the ground. Thank you very much.” 

“Dean, now’s the perfect time now that’s it’s dark. We’ll have to fly at night anyway-” 

“Hell. No.” Dean crossed his arms, scowling. “Not in the dark, not in the light, I am staying on the ground. End of discussion.” 


	6. Lessons

“I can barely see anything!” Dean whined, “This is a terrible idea, let’s just go back inside-” 

“Dean?” 

“What Cas?” 

“Don’t be a coward.” 

He snorted, “I’m fine, it’s just cold out here.” 

“We cut silts in the three layers your wearing now so that wouldn’t be a problem, use your wings for warmth if you’re still cold.” 

“I can’t use those if I’m flying and then the wind...” 

Cas rolled his eyes, although he was grateful for the many layers he wore. He wasn’t sure how, but he suspected after this he would have to find a way to clean himself. The dirt and smell starting to build on him has started to repulse him. It was ignorable, it didn’t bother him in the slightest at first, but now that the situation has calmed, it constantly bugged him. The dirt in his feathers picked up during the last few days rubs as an everlasting itch no matter how he shuffles those feathers. It would have to be ignored for now though. 

“Seriously though Cas, we can’t even see. We’re going hit a tree or not have enough room and then we’re going to fall and I would really like not to have that happen.” 

“Quit whining,” Cas turned a placed a hand on his forehead, “Now relax.” 

Dean grumbled and as his soul flickered across Cas’s fingertips, the bright soul slightly dull in Dean’s disappoint and fear skitter about. He momentarily toyed with the idea of soothing him, but after dinner, Cas had no urge to rummage through Dean’s emotions again. Instead he drew a sliver of the energy and converted it into a power source similar to grace, it was much easier to work with rather than the pure strength that overflowed from Dean whenever he gets worked up. 

He took some for himself and placed the rest in Dean’s eyes, setting up a continuous draw of power that, hopefully, Dean wouldn't manage to disable if he should panic. He withdrew his hand, using the power to convert the cones in his eyes to rods and then supercharging them. It took a second, the energy from Dean’s soul grew flimsy without a direct connection, but a black and white render of the world came in soon. 

“Awesome.” 

“Now that you can’t use the light as an excuse, are you ready to start?” Dean’s wings instantly tightened on his back at his words, and Cas arched an eyebrow at him when it took a moment for Dean to come up with an excuse. 

“I still don’t see why I have to learn this.” 

“If you want to hunt and not travel in the back of the truck, then this is the only way.” Cas extended his wings; the time for excuses has gone on long enough. “Now, you can’t simply launch straight, you won’t have adequate time flap your wings powerfully enough before you drop. So bend forward and lightly flap.” 

Dean hesitated, but as Cas gave him a steady look as he followed his own instructions, Dean caved in. He bent like Cas, close to his seventy-five degree. His wings started to beat along with Cas’s, so Dean should be experiencing the same lightening of weight on his feet. Yet even this small experience sent his eyebrows up, the gray wings, which were still magnificent, stuttering for just a moment. 

“Okay, extend your wings just a bit further- no, not all the way yet. There, just like that. Now steady yourself on your feet and flap harder.” He followed his own directions, making sure to keep balance. 

Dean’s jaw seemed to clench, but Cas was too far away to truly discern that, but he followed Cas with barely a pause. His wings now a grayish hue, dark on the back and almost blurry in the half seconds Cas saw his inner wings. Now that the golden and the shiny metallic bronze feathers reduced to shades of gray, Cas found himself missing those beautiful sparkling wings that quickly became normal to him during his waking hours. 

Cas refocused on the task at hand, feeling his feet barely even touching the ground anymore. His wings ached slightly, the first real physical exertion without the help of his grace, but he swiftly ignored it. It should get better when once he rose higher up. 

“Harder, but don’t let your wings hit the ground.” 

His feet lifted off the ground and Dean soon followed. Cas smiled despite himself as Dean’s wings flurried underneath him. The huge eagle wings, even if gray right now, currently resembled a huge hummingbird rather than something remotely majestic. The wing fluttered, Dean’s eyes faintly glowing,and his fear served to stagger him higher in the air. Cas tilted his head as Dean’s eyes blared bright, that green glow pulsing down his gray wings and shooting him up almost three stories. 

“Whoa!” Dean rapidly flapped, stumbling down. “Oh whoa, whoa whoa whoa-” 

Cas pushed down, wobbling slightly as his primaries hit the ground, but shot up to Dean with much more control than he. Dean’s arms and legs flailed underneath him in almost in a swimming motion, wings spasming to keep him hovering. To give Dean credit, he was managing to stay to somewhat in place with his fear-driven, wild flaps. 

“Dean,” Careful not to get in the way to Dean’s frantic flying, Cas reached out and grabbed his forearms. “Copy me.” 

His eyes, all green and glowing in the gray world, snapped to Cas and failed to listen. Cas dug his fingers into cloth, the jerking motion of Dean falling down to the side and burst back up almost throwing Cas off balance and forcing him to exert more effort into the stability of his wings. Neither of their wing types supported hovering for long periods of time, they could not endure this for long. 

“Dean!” Cas tugged at his arms, “Mimic me!” 

Dean understood this time, although Cas could not tell which direction his eyes were point, he could tell when the Dean grew steady. His legs stopped thrashing and his wings beat against the air in sync. Cas let out the tension in his chest, it would be difficult for Dean to trust flying if this were to go wrong so soon. 

“Okay, very good Dean, very good.” Cas looked around. Just a little bit higher and they would be clear of the bunker, his muscles have gotten particularly tight and hot trying to keep such a position. “Now we’re going to go higher, not just straight forward, fly next to me. Trust what your wings want to do, don’t panic.” 

Cas released his arms, tilting up slightly to float backwards from Dean to give both of their wingspans space. He put his back to the bunker, eliminating the possibility of Dean flying into it, and thrusted down. His wings snapped out to full length, curved muscles stretching out in relief, and he beat vigorously into the air. 

The wind brushed his hair up, gliding over his wings. The air, crisp and fresh in his lungs, pleasantly cool against the heat that pumped through his body. Cas turned and smiled to see Dean slightly behind him, he kept glancing down at the ground, but they were flying. 

He kept pushing upwards, weightless and free as he chased the clouds. He should have forced Dean to do this sooner, he must make sure Dean wishes to do this again. The power to defy gravity, even if it isn’t the same as defying space, thrilled him more. All the better since he could finally share such an experience with another. 

Never again alone to fly. 

Cas glided forward, at around two thousand feet, where the air was still thick to support them. He gently brushed over Dean’s wing; the coursing wind briefly replaced by a puffy softness, and Dean snapped his head up. His face was still tense, but eyes have lost their glow. Dean failed to hold Cas’s gaze though, failed to see his excitement, as he kept on looking to the ground beneath them. 

Brushing over the wing again, he used the smidge of power still in his eyes to connect with Dean- 

“Cas!” Dean’s shout rose over the wind, his soul lighting up with sparks of panic within him. “What the hell are you doing? Get out!” 

Cas rolled his eyes, keeping to the edge of Dean’s being and sent his thoughts through. _Would you like to play a game?_

“What?” Dean shot a quick glance at Cas before his head fixed itself right back on the ground again. “Are you kidding me? Now? You have awful timing!” 

_It is the best timing, since it will help you to be more confident with your flying._ A streak of disappointment danced with Cas’s nervous hope, but Cas tried regardless. _I understand if you don’t wish to play, you never had a chance at winning._

Dean batted at his wing, threatening the connection rather than Cas’s flight. “Excuse me?” 

_Dean, you can barely look up from the ground. How would you expect yourself to win? It’s fine-_

“ No,” A fierce determination and competitiveness swelled up in Dean, its fire flickering to Cas as he lingered almost on the outside. “Come on, laid it out. Whatever you pick, I’ll beat your ass at it. Mark my words.” 

_It’s a speed game._ A smile tugged at his lips, flattened by the wind. _Once we get far enough from the bunker, I’ll stop. Go when I touch your wing, first one back wins._

“You’re going so down!” Dean’s voice, a little hoarse from shouting, carried steel in it while he tensed up his head to stare ahead. “Speed is my game! Ain’t nothing faster than me!” 

_Perhaps in your car, but we aren’t on the ground anymore._

“Don’t matter! I’m gonna whoop your ass, just you wait!” 

Cas chuckled and pulled away from Dean, muscles stretched to be ready to go. Only since he wanted this to last longer than five minutes, Cas didn’t immediately stop and turn around. Hopefully this one game will ease Dean enough that he wants to fly again. They still should work on the takeoff more, but Dean should have fun with flying. 

He sucked in a deep breath of all the air rushing by him. Impossibility, he felt lighter. Not just the effects of gravity warded off by his wings, but as if someone had taken off chains that he’d grown to accept as a part of him. Freedom, Cas glanced back over to Dean, freedom to share with. 

Briefly, Cas wondered if he could fly upside down so he could see the stars. Even if he knew how to fly in such a way, Dean might refuse or might accept it since he can’t see the ground anymore. Stars, one of the everlasting creations of God that has stood for the longest time. They’re always there and they’re beautiful for that. 

Almost lazily, he flapped. Earlier when he suggested this, he was worried that without help from grace his wings wouldn’t be able to support his weight or without tail feathers his legs would dangle. While that was certainly true when they were going up, his wings extended down far enough to provide lift for his legs. He suspected that the wind might help too, but he couldn’t be sure. 

Although perhaps he should stop before Dean got confident with his flying abilities. Yet it was nice, the cool air and silence. Almost silence, Dean often kept flapping his wings, inefficiently too, and unlike Cas, was not silent about it. Maybe before Dean realizes the differences in their wings, Cas could convince him to play a game of stealth. If he teases Dean too much, however, that might encourage Dean to figure out how to rummage in his head. 

Sighing, he looked up to the clouds. The stars glimmered at him, broken up by the clouds, and the moon was still in its waxing gibbous phase. Four more days and Cas suspected that it would be at full moon; he must take Dean flying again that day, find somewhere with clear skies too. Light winds, just like this, so they could twirl and whip and dive with no unwanted wind pushing unless they got really high. Once Dean became comfortable enough, they could dive, in full control of their fall, only excitement instead of fear. 

His thoughts wavered, visions of descending angel in all their inhumanness falling upon Egypt flickered in his eyes. Cold and silent, grace humming around them and letting the moonlight go right through, as newborn after newborn went limp. New eyes, only having begun to see the wondrous world God has created, dull beneath the deadly snap of his grace. 

Shouts and screams plagued his ears, and Cas flapped hard behind him with a clenched jaw as he willed the memories down. The Assyrians, ruthlessly silenced as garrisons of angels unleashed their true form upon the camp. Burning flames erupted from their eyes, the stars dimming under fierce lights as their brains fried before finally falling limp. Over one hundred thousand dead without so much as a twitch of remorse, and Jack became depressed after accidentally killing one. 

He felt the building of tears, the vessel’s response to an unsteady mental state as they squeezed past his eyelids when he tried to contain them. Dean was right, they shouldn’t have gone flying. Oh, how could he have been so stupid? Was his reputation so worthy to be the price of so many men? All of whom undoubtedly denied entrance to Heaven and then corrupted into demons that would only serve to torment the humans he had been commanded to love. 

A few tears fell as raindrops, sliding down his cheeks even as he gained firm control over the rest of his face, he could not stop the tears. His old vessel’s voice, an ancestor of this vessel, cursing people and cities, curses he then unleashed with his true voice. Shattered pots and deaf men the best-case scenario. 

Before he could react, Dean’s wing brushed over his and the familiar soul rushed in. Cas faltered and struggled to focus on his wings as Dean’s presence wafted through his mind. Dean, despite noticing something was wrong, blundered uncertainty in his mind- which sent light jabs in various parts of his wings. Carefully, Cas wrapped the memories up and let them sink back down to where they’re supposed to stay. Without his grace, he needed to find something to keep them down. 

_Cas,_ Dean’s thoughts wobbled in his head, _I know I can pick your head apart, but to save us both from that, care to tell me what’s eating you?_

Cas, in his attempts not to offend Dean again, tried to send a ripple of peace at him. _You need not to concern yourself with it._

 _Like hell it doesn’t concern me._ Dean’s presence flashed darkly before slithering about. _If something goes wrong and you 're out of it then I’m screwed. Come on man, keep yourself together._

Cas outwardly sighed. _You’ve quickly learned how to project your thoughts._

 _Well, what can I say, it’s kinda like praying. However,_ Dean’s soul practically prickled at him, _are you going to answer or what?_

Cas remained silent. This situation called for honesty, he knew it, but how could burden the Winchester with his problems? They always have so much weighted on them, and his problems were his own and no one else should bear them. 

Dean bristled within him, like dragging sandpaper over his marginal coverts, the longer he took. He tried to ignore it, he can endure this pain, but Dean lodged it into his mind while becoming quite irksome and painful in his wings. 

_The last time I flew with someone in an earthly plane was under Anna’s command, Cas flapped lightly as the bristling faded. We, along with another garrison, were to kill a camp of Assyrians. There couldn’t have been over twenty angels, but within the night, all one hundred eighty-five thousand of them laid dead. Anna was even reprimanded for that; we weren’t to dive to Earth. Not after the mission Egypt to murder the firstborns, when a descending angel caused a crater._

Dean’s presence stilled, and Cas sighed, waiting for the sign that he ruined it. He should have kept it to himself, spared Dean the knowledge of his heinous deeds. He should have- 

_So Sammy wasn’t lying when he said you’ve been thinking about angels._ Dean’s swiped his wing quickly over Cas’s. _Don’t sweat it Cas, you’re better now._

Cas scowled bitterly, _Did you not see what I was in the Apocalypse World? I tortured humans and I believed them to be inferior, every action was to satisfy Heaven. That’s what I would’ve grown into, I wouldn’t have stopped it. I craved that respect._

Dean whacked him, and Cas fumbled when the hit wings tilted. _Well you’re not so stop throwing yourself a pity party. You’re not Heaven’s little puppet, all strings cut. You’re with us now._

 _I know, I’m grateful for it. But Dean, you have to understand,_ Dean’s soul almost seemed to peer suspiciously within him. _I have been with the angels and in Heaven ever since the creation of the universe. I watched the fish that would evolve into God’s masterpiece crawl from the oceans. With the intensity of this last decade, I could ignore large parts of it. Yet now I find reminders of the angels everywhere._

Cas felt Dean’s eye roll, _And you said I was bad at dealing with my emotions._

_It’s fine, once I recover adequate grace, I’ll dedicate it to blocking out these reminders._

_That’s not very mature for someone as old as you._

Cas pushed the presence within him, Dean’s mirth humming down his feathers. _Like you have room to talk._

 _Hey,_ Dean’s soul glimmered and nudged him, _I’m like a one-week infant compared to you. I don’t have to be as mature as you._

Cas smiled, _Very well then, infant, I will proceed to ignore you. As I usually don’t bother to listen to the babblings of newborns._

_Rude._

Cas stilled, Dean unable to react quick enough and their connection snapped apart. However, Dean didn't plummet as he readjusted himself, quickly flapping to stop. It wasn’t nearly as graceful or silent as Cas, but he managed to fly next to him in less than a minute. A firm glare on Cas as he simply smiled back. 

“Are you ready to lose Dean Winchester?” Cas kept his face straight, but he became soaked in amusement at the shocked and offended huff Dean responded with. Perhaps the Winchester’s brotherly antics have grown on him a bit too much. 

“I’m ready to kick your ass.” Dean rolled his shoulders, staring ahead. “Come on, I want to make this as short as possible for you.” 

Cas hummed, and flexed his wings before snapping out to hit Dean’s and flapping forward. He settled into a forty degree towards the ground, whereas Dean had an aggressive sixty-five dive. Cas only grinned at Dean’s rapidly falling form, gaining a lot of speed but not going very far in front of him either. 

He kept his wings tucked in loosely, forming a V with tense muscles. Dean fell with his wings mostly extended, understandable with his fear, but- 

He laughed when Dean leveled out, physics and momentum failing Dean as he flailed for supported. He quickly found it, but by then Cas had glided into the lead assured that Dean had lost a large portion of the speed he gained. His smile firm as the memory of Dean blundering around in the air replayed and ingrained itself into his mind. 

Successfully doing the maneuver Dean had failed, Cas twisted his wingtips slightly and eased from his slight dive and curved back up. He flapped hard with his momentum, climbing swiftly. He figured he would be losing ground to Dean right now, especially if Dean had managed to thrust some raw soul power into his wings, but Cas figured this might be the only way to get enough speed. 

It took a precious minute, but once Cas got high enough, he suspected almost three thousand feet, he dived almost vertically. His wings tight in a sharp V, flying mostly on his wingtips as he plummeted. The wind rushed by him, almost breaking the tight hold he had on his wings, growing more and more intense the faster Cas went. 

Last time, he was numbed out and almost unconscious when falling so fast. This time streaks of glee pulsed from his heart as he dared not twitch any feather, all of them streamlined and still in the roaring wing. 

Five hundred feet or so above the ground, Cas pulled almost flat. His cry carried away by the wind as he shot forward, speeds Dean wished he could drive his car with. The black and white land below him blurred gray as he glided across. The slight tilt down kept his momentum, and even flattening at about one hundred feet, he doubled the speed most cars drove at on the freeways. 

He spotted Lebanon in the distance and grinned. Almost there and he couldn’t see Dean in front of him. Since Cas doubted Dean had learned to manipulate light to conceal him, victory was statistically in his grasp. 

Yet, also statistically speaking, there was always a chance for the unlikely to take place. 

His warning thought proved correct when a shimmer of power above, and behind him, faintly rippled in the wind. He quelled the urge to flap forward, worried such an action might disrupt his momentum than add to it. So instead Cas tipped towards the ground more, a bit premature, but he accelerated toward the ground. Dean wouldn’t want to approach the ground so quickly, and Cas could handle the landing. He was almost there- 

With no time to process why the Impala was parked in front of bunker’s main door, right where Cas planned to land, Cas desperately straightened and thrashed his wings trying to halt or land elsewhere. Dean crashed into him a heartbeat later, the both of them tumbling to the side. 

He heard a crackle travel up his right leg as his ankle hit the ground first. Followed by a wing and then he toppled over Dean’s limbs and the ground, everything getting hit by one of those or both before finally rolling to the stop on the uphill next to the entrance. A dull pulse throbbed through his whole body, but at least he didn’t hit any metal. He was aware of that at least. 

“Dean!” 

“Cas!” 

He heard the duel shouts of Sam and Jack, their car doors opening then slamming shut. Dean groaned and untangled himself- pulling out a wing between Cas’s legs and an arm underneath them both- while Cas simply laid there accepting the dull throb in his daze. He felt vaguely surprised when the throb actually began to slow, strange as all the excitement only happened momentarily ago. 

“Hiya Sammy,” He heard Dean’s back pop as the man stood. “Out of all the times not to park in the garage.” 

“Well, I certainly didn’t think. . .” 

“Hey Cas,” Jack’s voice startled him, and he blinked up at him. Somewhere during their fall, Dean’s power in his eyes faded, probably instinctively diverted to ease the landing, but Jack’s, somewhat blurry, face was illuminated by the Impala’s headlights. “Are you alright?” 

“I think so, I need a moment.” Somewhere in the back of his head, he acknowledged that he has yet to have a proper conversation with Jack yet for a few days. That wouldn’t do. 

Jack tilted his head, casting shadows on most of his face. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you.” Three fingers flew in front of his face. “How many fingers am I holding up?” 

“Three.” Cas waved the hand aside, sitting up. “Thank you for checking with me though.” 

Yet as he said that, heat bloomed all through his right leg with a low buzz. He blinked, his thoughts slowly churning knowledge. Things just couldn’t seem to get in the right order, priorities floating about. He was aware that he should be doing something, but he couldn’t think of the most important one to do. His wet pant leg in the middle of his shin distracted him too, why was that wet? 

“Do you want help up?” 

Cas shook his head, simply to try and clear his head, until he realized such an action also equated into no. Slightly belated, he cleared his throat. “Uh yes, sorry, that would nice.” 

Jack nodded and stuck his hand out. Cas grabbed it, briefly wondering why Jack’s hand was so slick on a cold night and hoisted himself up. Only to succeed about halfway when a flare of molten heat shot up from his right leg that quickly collapsed in. 

“Dean! Sam!” It was a short fall, and Cas couldn’t tell why he got so dizzy from it. Yet the ground tilted beneath him, yet didn’t at the same time. Oh, it was all so confusing. “Something’s up with Cas!” 

Whatever conversation the Winchester brothers were in halted. Dean was instantly at his side and Sam grabbed hold of his chin, tilting his head to look at his eyes. 

“Concussion. His eyes aren’t dilated in sync.” Cas frowned, he didn’t know it, but as the intense heat and buzz started to fade, he realized he expected Sam to say something different. He didn’t know what, perhaps there was some problem with Dean that Sam should be talking about instead. 

“Hang on buddy,” Dean placed a hand on his jaw, his soul rushing into him. “You’ll be as good as new soon enough.” 

Cas grabbed onto the power, Dean’s soul, and tried to extract simple power from it. Yet he couldn’t quite remember how to do that and tried to reach out for his grace instead. Although, of course, Heaven has everything he’s been regenerating. Right. 

_Cas,_ A thought, different than his own, grumbled in him. _If you aren’t gonna do anything then do you at least have the courtesy to tell me how to do it?_

_Do what?_

The presence did what Cas imagined as a mental forehead slap. _How to heal ,like yourself for example._

_Oh, of course, yes. You first scan for the injury and then weave grace through the area to mend it. Simple._

_You son of a-_ Real-world Dean, wings in the shadows and his face blurry, sighed and his fingers gripped his jaw tightly. _I need more than that Cas._

It’s not complicated, the body usually will soak up the power to accomplish the task it already wants to do. 

You better not bitch about how I do with those crap instructions. Before Cas could comment, since he feels most definitely strange but not in any way intense enough to call for such complaint, Dean’s soul starting to probe him. He jabbed at his ribs and pushed into his shoulders, far from painful but Cas had the strangest urge to wiggle and he could feel himself smiling. 

Dean dug into his stomach, and with everything floating around confused and the festering heat morphing into something that sort of hurt, Cas honestly attempted to keep the pressure in his throat contained. But Dean kept moving! He kept on nudging in different places and got up to his neck- 

“Hehehe...” Cas’s stomach trembled, his face began to hurt, and it was so hard! He was so tense trying to keep it in and despite all the clamped muscles in his throat, a laugh bubbled out of him. Then another and another and he couldn’t stop it. 

“De- Ha-ean!” He laughed and his wings and arms and legs spasm out of his control, laughter peeling out of him. “Stop! Sta haha, you ca-ah-ah, you can’t...” 

“Hold him down!” 

Sam, or maybe Jack, maybe both, grabbed a wing- Cas tried to through them off to no avail- and an arm. His left leg peddled in the air, his right jerking as the heat intensified, building and Cas felt as if he was laughing at a thunderstorm, challenging it. He was an angel, he’s seen spiders fall out of the sky in- what did the humans call it now, Australia? What could thunderstorm possibly do to him? 

Dean was cursing and his probes increased, not in strength, but they were everywhere. At some point he managed to wiggle into his skull and Cas felt a wave of energy swirl in him, but he couldn’t stop the laughter. He attempted to quell it, but the reactions to all the jabs overwhelmed him. Pleas, grabbled with laughter, fell from his lips and- 

He choked off with a cry, sudden clarity sharpening the heat into a fire erupting down his leg. He heard Dean curse, and Cas quickly directed him as he laid there while the stab-like wound throbbed in his shin and pain scorched all throughout the area. Deep within him he knew something was wrong but suddenly the heat was everywhere, and he was trembling? 

Dean’s soul pooled in the area, and a staggered 'ah’ sound, mostly of relief, rumbled out of his sore throat. The pain dulled back down, heat fading, and, due to Dean’s inexperience, Cas had the unique sensation of feeling his bones shift within him and the soft vibrations of when they slid into place. 

After a few moments, the time of which Cas assumed Dean was mending his muscles and blood vessels where there were fewer nerves for touch, Dean retreated. As he left, his soul almost seemed to quiver to Cas, but he couldn’t fully comprehend that before Dean was gone. 

“Cas?” Jack released his limbs. “Are you alright?” 

Cas blinked, and knew it would be appropriate to smile, but his face ached from such action, so Cas cleared his throat instead. “I’m better now.” 

Sam released him. “Dean? Hey, Dean, you good man?” 

Cas snapped upright, his sniff core ignored, and looked to Dean. He was blinking rapidly and had a dazed expression on his face, wings slumped behind him. Sam grabbed his shoulder, shaking him, and Dean shook himself out of it. Cas let himself relax when Dean quickly got angry, he was probably all right then. 

“You shattered your shin!” Dean jabbed a finger into Cas’s chest. “Your knee looked like something Picasso tried to make and you threw your femur out of place! You could have mentioned that!” 

“I’m sorry-” 

“I give a rat’s ass about your sorry now!” Dean stood and his wings fluttered out. “We shouldn’t have gone flying, we-” 

“Hey!” A different sort heat spread through Cas and he rose too. “I have healed you countless time without complaint of how your injury happened. So perhaps-” 

“Well you know how to heal!” Dean’s wings fluffed out to his sides, half extended from his back as they rose higher, and Dean’s eyes glowed as he glared. “What if you were injured and I needed to instantly heal you? What if you cracked your head open just now? Huh?” 

“If I were to receive such a fatal injury that wasn’t from something that can kill an angel,” Cas arched his wings above him, “The remnants of my grace would explode and heal me.” 

“Oh so then you’re human and even more vulnerable?” 

“Guys, maybe-” 

Cas and Dean snarled, “Shut up Sam.” 

“I would not be human,” Cas growled, feeling scores of eyes watching him defend himself. “But it would be impossible to recharge unless I’m in Heaven.” 

Dean snorted, “Great, like there isn’t millions of ways to die getting there.” 

“If I remember right, I was on the streets for the first week of being human, so I believe I would manage.” Cas’s heart drummed, deep and steady, and waves of heat and energy flooded down his limbs. He would not let this questioning undermine him! 

“You aren’t invincible!” Dean’s wings flared out, green pulsing down the feathers. “Stop acting like it!” 

“We’ve both died a multitude of times,” Cas scoffed, determined to prove himself right. “I’m well aware of how killable I am.” 

“If you die now, we have no way of getting you back.” 

“The same applies to you, even if Billy doesn’t throw you into the Empty, I’m sure one of the Fates will intervene to throw you in. They must be so pissed off that we’ve been dimension hopping.” Cas straightened up, refusing to lower his wings and accept such defeat, such a stigma. He would no longer be stepped on. “But your specialty is pissing people off, so I shouldn’t be surprised.” 

“Let's go inside,” Jack piped up, “Castiel-” 

_Castiel is being punished._

_Is it time? I always knew it would happen._

Cas shook his head, willing the angels’ voices to silence. He lived through this, the same words and the same disgusted tone. This was just another memory, an unwanted memory, and he kept his glare on Dean and refused to break eye contact. 

_I thought Castiel was loyal._

Dean didn’t say that, Cas was sure of it. He couldn’t have, Dean wouldn’t say such a thing. Perhaps he imagined it, simply another fragment of a memory, yet he has heard Dean ridicule his abilities and choices; he could be revealing the root of it now. Perhaps Dean did say, not even addressing him anymore despite Cas could hear him. 

_It’s his destiny, God’s word._

_Laudeil was right, it happened before we would win. Should always trust her on this type of manner, she is a Dominion after all._

His vessel was shaking, shaking and shaking and he couldn’t stop it. Wasn’t he just hot? Why are his hands cold? His heart slammed and stuttered then went back to slamming, was something wrong with it? He was an angel! An infinite being of power and he should be better than this! He should be above than his vessel’s reactions! He needed to stay focus, and he lost track of what has been said. 

_How could he do this at such a critical time?_

“ Cas- ” _\- tiel finally will be demoted and someone superior, God-blessed, will take his place as leader of his garrison._

_Finally the courts are stepping in. He’s gotten so radical, and with all the time he’s spending on Earth, watching over his charge way more necessary, something’s bound to be up._

_Is he being punished for corrupting Anna? He must have played a part in her fall._

“I never! I planned to punish her for it!” Like a spell broken, his vessel cried to run, to get away and waves of adrenaline flooded him to fulfill such a purpose. He had to move, he could come back, he had to plan. This is all so unexpected and volatile, and he needed a tactical retreat. Yes, yes, a retreat would be most beneficial. He could deal with this and then return. 

_Balthazar is defending him; he has convincing evidence for him._

_Is that enough to hide Castiel’s nature? If it doesn’t happen now, then when?_

He sidestepped, and he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. The mere step erupted into a sprint, and, as his arm twitched while consumed with the image of Balthazar’s dying face, he leaped onto the Impala. One step and his wings snapped out. Another step on the windshield, his wings rose. One more step up and he jumped off, thrusting down with his wings. 

One beat, two then three, blood racing and gravity angrily trying to pull him back down, to make him fall. He pushed on, into the darkness, aiming north. He ignored the others’ cries, he ignored his name, focusing his ears on only the blood that pulsed there. 

The leisurely flight earlier couldn’t have been more different than this one. He kept flapping and flapping, refusing to just glide forward as gravity kept trying to yank him back. Dean might have tried to follow, and with his powers, could catch up if he slowed. Yet Castiel needed to be apart, and he had no faith in his ability to explain and convince that. It would be best if they stayed away as Cas gathered his thoughts. 

Yet some greedy selfish part of him wanted Dean to chase after him. 

Bitterly, with all the angel voices clamoring at him, he ripped that wished apart. Such an action will never happen, from anyone, to him. It was the one fate he couldn’t change. The one thing free can't never change despite how hard he worked for it; how desperate he was for it. He needed to remember that. 

He dropped a bit, gravity pulling him away from his destination, but Castiel pushed for the little patch of forest he knew must be out there. He couldn’t remember how far though, he should, but he couldn’t. He might collapse onto the plains at this rate. Yet it wouldn’t really matter if no one chases him, he could land anywhere and it would be no difference. Though the thought of being in the open, where Heaven and the stars could look down and judge him, kept him going. 

Shame churned in his stomach and he faltered in the air, gravity increasing its pull, and for a second there he was glad that so few angels were left. So few angels left to judge him, but that was no reason to be glad so many have fallen, by his own hand no less. Heaven struggled to stay risen and yet Cas was glad that there were no angels left to keep it running. 

Horrible, such horrible disgusting selfishness! 

How dare he even fly when he stripped his siblings of their wings. How dare he fly when all he has ever done with such an ability is to take life. Angels, himself included, did far less damage when they couldn’t fly. He shouldn’t be flying, he shouldn’t be flying, he needed to be grounded where he could do no more damage! 

His wings trembled and he lost altitude, failing to support himself against the desperate gravity trying to get him back to the ground. Perhaps even gravity knows the blood flying angels have spilled. Perhaps it’s true, sins really weigh one down. 

Instead of fighting, he pulled into a dive and ignored the massacre of Egypt’s newborns. Only a couple stories above the ground, he flattened out. He sped over the ground and yet still slowed and dropped more than he should have. Could he no longer fly correctly? He knew such a thing should make him happy, but he felt only loss and panic at the thought, and dread draped with guilt clawed at his wings. 

He squawked when a dark cylinder shot up in front of him. Flapping and turning, he managed to slip through the trees until he slowed enough to where he could start running, then pulling to a walk. 

Dean’s words echoed back at him, cracking his skull open and no longer invincible, as he leaned on a tree. His heart thumped and his lungs heaved, his body needing its organs to keep him sustained without his grace to keep it functioning. So weak, so killable, which he should have learned a long time ago with how many times he has been killed. 

His legs buckled and Cas dimly felt the impact travel up his spine. His wings scratched against the bark and he laughed when he thought about everything his wings just went through. Of course he couldn’t fly well, not only has he yet to groom his wings but if they were truly corporal now, new down feathers would be preparing to grow. Not to mention all the dirt that must be in his feathers. 

A yank lurched his chest forward, and he scowled at Dean. Castiel couldn’t go back, not like this. He had to deal with this, whatever this was, and Dean had no responsibility to help. Yet how does one cope with this huge lurking problem, hovering out of consciousness until something else reminds him of it. An ape would have a better chance at controlling the weather. 

His shoulders began to shake, little movements he tried to suppress. Any thoughts he tried to conceive on how to go back, how to resolve the problem with Dean, crumbled almost instantly. Going back? When can he ever really go back? It’ll start out tenuous, slowly improve, then he’ll do something mess that up and never recover from it. When something didn’t fit, it tended to break things. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing could change that. Nothing ever will and Cas was foolish to think otherwise. The yank kept tugging and he wanted to scream at it. His throat tightened in anger, but Cas only let out a raspy whimper. A wordless noise that pleaded with Dean to stop. He should worry over Jack, over his car Cas left footprints on. Cas lived thousands of times longer than them, they should not spend any time worrying over him. 

He shouldn’t be worried over. Out of the sparse angels still alive, he did not deserve to be one of them. He messed up, horribly over and over again. He massacred angels with the souls of Purgatory and unleashed the Leviathans. He was why the angels fell and lost their wings, starting the wars that would decimate their numbers. He let Lucifer out, more angel and more human lives lost. 

Cas pressed his knees together with his elbows and clamped his hands over his ears. He was sobbing to his legs, the faint tinge of blood in the air around them. The most recent example of his uselessness. He couldn’t even land right. He should have known better to incite a flying game when they haven’t even practiced landing yet. 

Stupid, so very stupid of him. An angel should be smarter. A friend should have been more thoughtful. He needed to be ready for the unexpected, how dare he lower his guard. 

So worthless, if he can’t do any of that, then where did his worth lie? After all the harm he unleashed upon others and as the world as a whole, Cas wouldn’t be surprised if he had no worth left in him. Perhaps the demons valued how much of an idiot he has been this last decade. 

Worthless... graceless... human in all aspects except in name... 

Just a broken worthless graceless angel no one wants. 


	7. A Dirty Angel Next to the Creek

Castiel woke up with gasp, struggling for air as he straightened. He blinked, wondering why he felt so oxygen deprived, he had no memory of any dreams or nightmares that would cause that. Perhaps he simply couldn’t remember, most humans can’t remember their dreams. 

A sharp yank made him sigh, as he probably should go back to the bunker. If Dean had a problem and he wasn’t there to fix it, he wouldn’t even allow the thought of forgiving himself, let alone from other people. 

His wings itched terribly, an ache throbbing through them that refused to be ignored any longer. He should expect that, after his mistreating of them, and Castiel needed to look at them sooner rather than later. Castiel knew there was a river, or perhaps it was a lake instead, that he could wash them in. Yet since he has failed to groom himself with his oil glands, water will soak into them. 

He glanced up; the sky mainly gray with a bit of sunlight giving him enough light to see. Castiel briefly wished for his grace, that instead of estimating that it might be around seven in the morning, he would know the time. 

Dean yanked at him again, tugging at him. In known vain, he tried to grab onto it as if it were a hand. Grab it and throw it off of him, so the longing pull that felt like a second gravity would stop. Selfish, yes, but Castiel accepted large parts of him fell into the sin. How that happened with the Winchester’s, who had toxic selflessness it seemed at times, he couldn’t say. 

He hummed absentmindedly when the thing he grabbed, the prayer he supposed, squirmed and pulsed under his attention. Usually when he focused on a prayer, he heard its intention clearly. The many mysteries of Dean’s new soul unknown to Castiel. Sighing, he pushed it out of mind and it thankfully didn’t yank at him again. 

Begrudging limbs lifted him up as he stood, his wings dragging over the ground. Castiel assumed he at least got six hours of sleep, maybe more, but lethargic muscles refused to wake up. His heart slowed as if to encourage him to sleep again. He listened only to his throat and mouth, which scratched when he moved his tongue. 

Leaning on a tree, he yawned. He almost swayed with it as his eyes squeezed shut. His wings briefly fluttered, and Castiel wished he could stretch them, but not only did he not have the energy, but that would disturb the feathers. So far, he managed to keep them positioned in a way that minimized itching and he did not want that to change. 

With another few steps, he tripped over a root. His wings fluttered and he promptly fell onto his arms. Sighing, he hoisted himself back up and brushed off the dirt. His feathers itched, and when they instinctively rubbed against each other, it irritated him. Some Angel of the Lord he turned out to be, he failed to even manage his wings. 

He paused again to lean on another tree and glanced up at the sky. A long-time ago, he still had enough faith to look up for guidance. That even in his doubt about choice and free will, God had the answer for him. What a fool, so very foolish. He should have- he should have- 

What should he have done? Even now with all the knowledge of what would happen, if he traveled to Lisa’s backyard, he couldn’t ask for Dean’s help. Without Crowley’s help, Raphael’s army would raise the apocalypse within the year. 

Instead of God, he should have turned to the Winchesters. They were the ones who adverted the apocalypse, not God. They were the ones who trusted him, not Heaven. They were the ones who had his back, not the King of Hell. They were virtues and saints that Cas kept turning away from. 

How could he? How could he make the same mistake so many times? 

Sighing, he pushed himself off the tree and continued to look for the water source around here. Castiel kept his eyes to the ground, shuffling his feet around roots or rocks. He wanted to fix it. Perhaps that was why Dean loves to fix machinery, there’s instructions on how to fix it. How to fix Heaven and give angels free will and morals, no instructions for that. How to cope with ruining Heaven and the angels, nothing except suicide. How to help cage the Darkness after everything was supposed to be finally be fixed and cured, no obvious options for that one either. 

The quiet burbling of water drew his attention and he shuffled towards it while Dean tugged at him again, incessant urgent tugs. The trees broke and Castiel saw what could be described as a large creek or a small river. He wings itched, since despite the thought of them soaked repulsing him, to be clean lured him more. 

He walked to a bed, where the water gently lapped, and crouched to cup his hands in it. He took in gulp after gulp he could get in. He acknowledged the diseases potentially swimming in the water, but even if he isn’t invincible, modern human medicine certainly would help him with that. 

Cupping water again, he splashed it against his face. He scrubbed the dirt off and massaged the stiff muscles there. The water dribbled from his hands and he scooped up more water again, rubbing at his eyes- 

“Cas!” 

He froze, water falling down his face and he stood to face Dean- 

“My God, I’m glad I found you.” Dean hugged and enveloped him with his wings, not noticing Castiel’s feathers puff up as they itched again. “I didn’t want to hear about any report about some winged man crashing into someone’s backyard.” 

“Dean-” 

“Oh hey,” Dean’s wings relaxed, although they stayed close, and Dean stepped back with his hands clasped onto Castiel’s shoulders. “I know, I got a bit jerkish yesterday, but come on. You know how I am with flying and seeing- feeling- all the damage in your leg and watching you all concussed. Man, it would’ve been a miracle if I didn’t freak.” 

“Dean-” 

Dean released him, throwing his arms out to the side as much as possible as to not hit his own wings, which were still curled towards Castiel. “If you want, you can yell at me and stuff, that’s totally fine. Sam really laid it on me yesterday, even Jack got riled up. So go ahead, let me have it.” 

“Dean!” Castiel’s wings flared out and butted Dean’s away. “Why did you come after me?” 

Dean blinked and opened his mouth, before narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Castiel. Castiel tightened his wings back to his back, despite the itch, and held the stare, taking care not to ball his fists up. His heart rate, to his dismay, began to increase again, yet finally Castiel achieved a sense of energy this morning. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Don’t answer a question with another, that’s childish.” 

Dean crossed his arms. “I can’t answer until I have that information.” 

“So,” Castiel gave him a blank stare in return. “You came here without a reason?” 

Dean huffed, “If I answer, will you?” 

“With honesty.” 

Dean did an X motion over his heart and grabbed a shoulder, staring at Cas dead in the eye again. “I wanted you back at the bunker, I was worried.” He squeezed the shoulder once. “If you say that to anyone, I’m plucking your feathers.” 

Castiel waited for him to drop the hand, but Dean only tilted his head down, intensifying his look. All the water he drank moments ago vanished from his mouth and he swallowed, all his thoughts in lockdown and he doubted if he could manage a squeak with how his vocal cords tightened. 

Dean didn’t say anything, but his wings wrapped around Castiel again. His feathers itched and instead of talking with such weighted words, Cas had the urge to request Dean to groom his wings. Yet Dean’s soul slipped into Castiel without a problem before he could do anything. He didn’t probe, humiliation heating Castiel up at the thought of being tickled again, but Dean sat there within him. 

_Is this easier?_

Cas took a deep breath, everything he needed to say to Dean, everything he wanted to explain or reveal, all seemed inadequate and fake and flat. All it tangled together into a mess he couldn’t hope to articulate. 

_I was being stupid. I’m sorry._

Dean frowned as his wings tightened around Cas. _For what? Last night? Totally not your fault bubby, no one blames you for that and everyone understands. Sure, would’ve been nice if you came back sooner or stormed into the bunker, but no worries. Nothing to be sorry about._

“ No- not-” Cas swallowed and took a deep breath. _I’m sorry for always assuming I know best._

His heart picked up and tears, human little tears, built in his eyes. _I know that can never make up for it. But I really never meant to hurt you or Sam. I always wanted you to have your apple-pie-life before your time in Heaven comes. Yet every time, I managed to screw it all up. You deserve better._

_You don’t need to apologize for that._

Dean wrapped him in a hug, cocooning him in and the temperature shot up ten degrees. Dean’s breath cool over his skin, ghosting and sending thin vibrations in the skin around it. 

“I’ve already forgiven you for that.” His whisper brushed gently over his ear. “Your heart was always in the right place.” 

_So there’s no need to apologize._

Cas hiccupped in repressing a sob, he didn’t mean to and he didn’t want to, but it burst out of him anyway and Cas buried it in Dean’s shoulder. He somehow got his arms up and clung to Dean between his wings and back. It was nice and selfish and greedy, but Cas couldn’t stop himself even if- 

_Hey,_ Dean’s soul soothed it down, easing itchy wings, _I’m the selfish greedy bastard here. There can’t be two of us._

Cas choked on another sob and his fingers dug into the cut jacket Dean had on, the same as last night. Relief, uncertain and hesitant, crawled out and clung with him. Cas wanted to bat it down, his instincts told him he needed to before it hurts, but perhaps that’s not what’s best. 

“We should that when we get angry again.” 

“Uhh.” Dean’s head shifted so his cheek pressed above his ear. “Whatdaya mean Cas?” 

_Only speaking in our minds, so we can control ourselves._

“Good idea, I’m down. However,” Dean pulled away to look him in the eye. “If I pissed at something you did with someone else, they don’t get to be involved in the head chat thing.” 

“I’ll agree with that.” 

Dean smiled and pulled away, with his soul and his body. “So, now that’s that. Let’s get another takeoff lesson in and we’ll get back to the bunker before Mom does.” 

“Oh, well, how about a wing lesson done completely on the ground?” Cas pulled his ungroomed and filthy wings closer, the itching almost making it impossible to hold them still. 

Dean arched an eyebrow. “You can’t fly or what?” 

Cas frowned and tilted his head at Dean. “I haven’t taken care of my wings in the slightest, they need attention and grooming before I should fly again. I can, by all means, but I’ll be significantly slower as my wings would hurt. I would like to avoid that.” 

“Oh,” Dean curled his wing and glanced at it. “Is it that dry itching feeling that comes every once and while? I haven’t had a problem with it.” 

“You have a soul excluding extra power, I wouldn’t call it stretch for that be why it’s not affecting you as much.” 

Dean scratched at his neck. “Well, I can-” Dean glanced away from him. “If you want me to, I’ll groom them for you.” 

“Will you?” Cas sighed and he slumped in relief, this accursed itching would be gone. “I’d greatly appreciate that.” 

Dean’s lips tightened and he rubbed at his neck again, juxtaposed to the light flutter his wings keep making. “Ok, awesome, just, uh, how do I do that?” 

Cas turned around before sitting down, resting his hands on his knees as he stretched his wings out. “Comb your hands through them, remove anything that shouldn’t be there and old feathers. My feathers should reposition themselves naturally, but if they fail to, guide them back to place.” 

“Awesome, yeah, I can do that.” 

A whole-body sigh fell from his lips when Dean’s hands dragged the all the way down his coverts near his scapulars on his right side. His left wing fluttered a bit, most certainly stirring more dust into those feathers, but relief traveled in the wake of Dean’s fingers. Beautiful relief of the itching, even better what he anticipated. Cas must’ve forgotten how clean feels in the past few days’ excitement; he won’t be making the same mistake again soon. 

“Goodness Cas, you should’ve brought this up sooner.” Dean scoffed, a hand ruffling through his secondary coverts. “You got leaves in here.” 

Cas swallowed, soothing his sensitive wings as Dean’s calloused hands trailed through his feathers. “I’ll be sure to remember that.” 

“Hey,” Den fiddled with a feather, tugging at it, and Cas desperately willed down the spasm that shot through his other wing. “Would you mind doing this for me? Not now or anything, I’m better off at the moment and we need to get back, but like-” 

“Of course Dean,” He grated, “But if you could stop tugging please?” 

“Oh yep, yeah, sorry man.” Dean chuckled slightly and released the feather, and Cas sighed with relief despite the cold calmness as his feather settled again. 

After that, Dean simply carded his fingers through his feathers, occasionally having to pick something out. He got lost in it, the feathers all in place and all that terribly itchy dirt among other particles out. It was quite relaxing, and Cas’s eyelids began to droop despite waking up not that long ago. 

It was cold out, the early fall morning prickled at the exposed skin on his hands and face, yet so nice. Relaxing and comforting, no other place, no other person, could leave such a touch of peace that echoed throughout him. Cas would have never guessed how soothing it is for trusted hands to card through his wings. He would have never imagined it so. . . blissful. 

“Did you sleep last night?” Dean’s fingers stiffened as he combed through the primaries on the left, and Cas only huffed. Annoyed that Dean thought he pouted for over six or more hours instead of a more reasonable one, maybe one and half hours. 

“Yes, I fell asleep quite quickly actually. I don’t believe midnight passed, but it is a possibility.” 

Dean softly chuckled, more of a huff, so Cas blamed the dazed sleepiness for the instant smile that grew on his face in response. He knew, the part of him that resisted such a pleasant grooming, that he didn’t deserve this after what he just did last night. A part of him shrieked that it wasn’t right for Dean to come after him, but Dean drowned both thoughts out as his fingers skated through his fingers. 

“Cas?” A hand poked his shoulder. “You there?” 

“Hmm? Was I supposed to answer something?” 

Dean chuckled, louder, but it quickly tapered off. Cas blinked and straightened up, sensing the serious topic Dean had on his mind. It would be terribly rude to ignore him twice. 

“Dean?” 

“I was just wondering, you always seem sleepy, y’know? Staying asleep so long and stuff. I was wondering if you were having any problems.” His fingers traveled slower, twitching slightly as if he wanted to fiddle with one again. 

“I haven’t had any nightmares, assuming so since I can’t remember any dreams when I awake, but you are correct. I do sleep, on average, more than others currently, but that might just be my adjustment to lack of usable grace.” Cas slumped over again, talking about sleep only served to remind him how tired he was. Amidst all the surprise and sensations, his legs had a strong reluctance of moving and the idea of traveling back to the bunker after this was… unappealing at the very least. 

Dean cleared his throat. “If you need a boost, I’m sure you can siphon some off me.” 

“No,” A soberness quickly ensnared Cas’s mind, “That’s not necessary. Besides, I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing so regularly without understand how your soul works.” 

“Ok, but-” Dean stilled when a shiver ruffled through his wings; Cas couldn’t stop the image of sucking out the grace of one of his brothers popping up, chomping on grace as Lucifer put it. “You wouldn’t be taking any of my actual soul, you- that hasn’t happened yet.” 

Cas nodded once, going along with Dean’s thoughts. “I don’t want to harm you. Your soul has been through enough.” 

“You’re a big softie, you know that Cas?” 

Cas huffed, “Soft isn’t the word commonly used to describe me.” 

“Well,” Dean smirked, Cas could hear it, and ruffled the feathers up, “They obviously don’t know you well enough to get to see the dorky side of you.” 

Cas hummed, “It would hard to pose a threat or be respectable if I’m regarded as dorky. Perhaps it’s best others don’t know my apparent ‘dorkiness’.” 

“I don’t know, if you manage to be a badass and a dork at the same time, that’s pretty impressive.” 

“Dean,” He grumbled and almost turned to raise his eyebrow at Dean, “Are you complimenting me?” 

“What? Well, I mean, uh, yeah.” The hands retracted from his wings and Cas grinned slightly at the stuttering Righteous Man. “Take it as a compliment.” 

“Thank you.” Cas tried, and failed, to hide the mirth in his voice. 

Dean snorted, “I’m a gentleman. Anyway, I think I’m done with your wings.” 

“It does feel much better.” Cas curled a wing around to see. The itchiness faded to nonexistent and- 

Cas’s gaze locked onto the water, remembering his wings were supposed to slightly waterproof. Dean certainly didn’t use any oil, but to ask that of him now might come off as presumptuous. Cas originally asked Dean to groom his wings, not coat them with his oil. This may mean Cas will have to ask Dean to groom him much sooner than anticipated, but Cas didn’t- he shouldn’t ask more of Dean. 

“Cas?” Dean poked his shoulder again. “Am I done or what?” 

“Yes,” Cas swallowed, wondering if there would be a way for him to use the oil himself. “Yes, thank you Dean, you did what I asked perfectly.” 

“Hmm, these middle feathers here,” Dean smoothed puffed up coverts, which Cas failed to have noticed, and attempted to relax them himself. “They riled up just now, isn’t that funny?” 

“Dean?” Cas held himself still, throwing a confused glance over his shoulder only to meet a smirking Dean. 

“I think you’re a lair.” 

Cas turned back around and drew his wings closer to his back. “I have been described as dishonest before.” 

“Come on,” Dean, for lack of a better word, petted his wings in a way as if to coax them open. “If you aren’t gonna accept my soul grace stuff for this, then you better ask me to do it by hand. By hand is usually better anyway, satisfying.” 

“Your opinions will soon change.” Cas received a sharp jab in between his shoulder blades. “Feathers need to be coated with oil.” He shifted, wings fluttering against Dean’s hands. “Unlike birds, since we don’t have tail feathers, I assume my oil glands are near the top of my wings.” 

Cas was acutely aware of air flowing into his lungs then back out, the process silent everywhere except where air passed through his nose and it made slight windy noise. Cas noted the vibration of his heart beating as silence from Dean continued to drag on and on and on. If Dean wasn’t comfortable, that would be fine, Cas simply needed to be told that though. 

Right as he opened his mouth to address Dean’s lack of decision, three fingers started probing top of his wing. His mouth hung open there for a moment, the feeling of being poked at the bone of his wing new and not entirely liked. Cas clamped it shut when Dean jabbed the gland, the never before touched gland flaring up a shot of pain very similar to a pinch. 

Dean retracted his hand when Cas stiffened, then slowly swiped over it and- oh. Oh, that was much better. 

“Yes,” Cas whispered, torn between trembling or relaxing. “Yes, that’s the spot.” 

Dean stilled for a moment before he rubbed it, heat flowing throughout Cas’s limbs. Most particularly though, it festered in his face and flushed down his body. His heart thumping stronger and the heat burning down his neck. The urge to make it stop, to escape these sensations and let himself cool down, crumbled to when Dean left the gland and started to coat his feathers with the oil. 

He sighed, letting go of his embarrassment and his feathers felt hydrate again, though he religiously kept a tight grip on the heat still shimmering through his body. He allowed a small smile, simply imagining his entire wings like this. Yes, he must remember to groom regularly. Cas won’t allow himself to be so irresponsible again. 

“You wings look glossy.” Dean’s fingers filtered through the bottom of his coverts. “Like the Impala after being waxed.” 

Cas smiled, deciding to take that as a compliment. “Thank you, although I must admit that I find your wings are more spectacular. You can’t see it, but they reflect light brilliantly.” 

“How awesome,” Dean rubbed more oil off of the gland, and Cas’s muscles clamped up in surprise. “I glitter like a freaking My Little Pony.” 

Cas swallowed, another wave of heat washing over him he struggled to control. “Small ponies don’t glitter, and besides, warriors have used light tactics for advantages in battle for as long as they’ve battled.” Cas glanced behind him to inspect Dean’s reaction. “Have you not considered that your wings could be used as weapons?” 

“Uh,” Dean scratched at the side of mouth and then rubbed at his face, Cas’s wings twitched, before moving to continue to oil Cas’s feathers again. “Not yet, but aren’t they, like, sensitive?" 

Cas shook his head and faced forward again. “Yes, but that wouldn’t matter in a fight. For instance, your hands have much more nerves in comparison to your arms, yet when you need blood for a sigil, you cut your hand instead despite it being more sensitive.” 

“Hmm, so if I, uh, used my wing like a sort of roundhouse punch, that could some serious damage?” 

“Certainly,” Cas relaxed further, smiling slightly at Dean’s intrigue. “Your wing is much larger than a fist, you could shatter someone’s arm, but I believe uppercuts would be more powerful.” 

“Why?” 

“Wings are designed to generate massive amounts of force for lift. If your wings can lift all your weight against gravity-” 

”Just imagine what that would do to someone.” Dean’s fingers slid faster through his feathers. “Man, no more supernatural strength to worry about, and like, numbers can’t overwhelm. I could, quite literally, just blow them away. Entire nests of vampires, no problem. Werewolf pack? Piece of cake.” 

“Does that mean you’ve changed your opinion on the wings?” Cas kept his voice normal, but stayed carefully aware of Dean, especially when his fingers stilled. 

“I dunno man, I mean, I can’t even drive Baby, much less be in public.” Dean grumbled sourly and slowly swiped his fingers over Cas’s oil glands, oblivious to the sudden tensing of Cas to control a shudder. “I know I don’t really know anyone that isn’t aware of the supernatural, but I feel confined to the bunker.” 

Cas took a deep breath before responding. “You could modify the seats in your car if you still wanted to drive, and what is it that you miss about going into towns? You have the skies.” 

“Yay, clouds.” Dean coated his primaries and Cas couldn’t remain tense after that, it felt so. . . so good . The indulgence taking root in him as he relaxed further. “I know it might not affect you that much, but I enjoy going to bars and eating a good freaking burger. Not to mention, the FBI doesn’t support cosplaying huge ass wings.” 

“Sam and Jack can do that, and all other aspects of hunting remain unaffected. You do tend to do everything at night in private locations.” 

“Great,” Dean’s voice rumbles, a telltale sign of sarcasm. "I still get to dig graves.” 

“I’d imagine I’d be there to help.” 

“Yippee.” 

Cas frowned, picking up on the sarcasm again. “Is that phrase not true then? The ‘misery loves company’ one?” 

Dean quietly chuckled and patted his shoulder. “Oh certainly, but. . .” 

“But what?” 

“Nothing, not important.” Dean backed away. “Okay, now I think I’m good. You’re all polished up.” 

Cas sucked in, shocked at how suddenly he had to move. His fingers twitched stiffly and the joints in his arms ached slightly as he stretched them out. He wanted to use his wings to push on the ground, they were the only limbs that felt awake and ready to do any activity, yet he needed to put a greater effort into keeping them clean. 

His ankles popped as he climbed to his feet, as if trying to say no to his movement but supported him regardless. This body always has supported him. 

“Ok,” Dean clapped his hands once Cas stood. “Takeoff lesson take two.” 

Cas held back his frown and simply stretched his shoulders instead. “You took off without assistance to get to me, do you need more lessons?” 

Dean waved the question aside. “I was high on my mojo, totally different.” 

“Ready then?” Cas bent forward and extended his wings halfway, tilting his head at Dean. 

“Yeah, definitely, just-“ Dean licked his lips and jerked his wings out violently. “Um, yeah, uh sure.” 

“Pull your wings back a bit and flap lightly, slowly build and don’t panic.” Cas began himself, and tucked a smile away at how easy it was. The air responded exactly as he wanted and he lifted within a couple of seconds. How he managed to fly yesterday can only be written off to adrenaline, even then the odds must have been slim for him to get so far. 

Dean, while not shooting into the air, flapped with too much power and kept beating against the ground with his primaries. His face tightened, narrowed eyes flickering uncertainly, and his wings twitched even as he flapped. Cas sighed, setting his feet back on the ground, Dean clearly had no control and was only about a foot or two off the ground. 

Cas stepped up to him, extending his arms. “Grab onto me, I’ll keep you steady.” 

Dean whipped to stare at him, wings snapped down and in and Dean’s arms flew out as if they could balance him in the air. They couldn’t, though amusing to watch, as Dean wobbled just slightly off the ground. It must have been a miracle yesterday that he got off the ground. 

Dean visibly swallowed and grabbed onto Cas’s arms. His hands were slick, covered with his oil still, but Cas got a firm grip on his jacket. He needed to dig into it though, as the fabric moved easy with the two slits in the back to make room for Dean’s wings. 

“Keep your wings synchronized.” Cas nodded as Dean listened, his primaries brushing against his legs as they hit the ground. “Tuck your wings more, close to four or five feet. Quicken your wing beats, but lighten them too.” 

Dean took a deep breath, lowering his eyes from Cas’s. Yet he got his wings under control and steadily began to rise. Cas’s arms stretch up, which actually felt nice, while Dean’s stretched down, his body becoming more and more parallel with the ground. Cas, despite having his feet planted, felt his weight start to be pulled up by Dean. 

“I’m going to release you now,” Dean’s eyes shot up and briefly flashed green, his grip tightening. “Once I do-” 

“Don’t do that!” Dean’s wing beat down, and Cas’s wings fluttered as his feet barely held on the ground by gravity. “I’ll just lose control and spiral off to the side. Don’t let go Cas.” 

Cas grunted, trying to flutter his wings up to stay on the planted, but that’s not what they were designed to do and his muscles moved unnaturally within him. “I have to or you’re going to start pulling me up. Now, when I let go, fly forward and angle yourself up slightly, you can turn once you get above the trees.” 

He released Dean’s arms, while ceasing his wing flutters, but Dean didn’t let go and flapped down in another burst of panic. Cas yelped as his feet swung up and his wings fluttered but couldn’t do anything in the position he was in. His legs peddled instinctively, trying to find the ground again, and Dean, thankfully now, kept his grip and flapped harder. 

Cas grabbed onto Dean again, felt the distinct urge to cuss, and swung his legs up to hold onto Dean’s. To Dean’s credit, which Cas begrudgingly and thankfully gave to him, Dean didn’t even falter and surged up more. Cas folded his wings up, despite the almost overwhelming urge to use them for flight, but his wings were useless, plain and simple. 

“Dean!” Cas pulled himself closer to Dean, grabbing onto his shoulders and out of the way of his wings. “Connect with me!” 

Dean’s soul crashed into Cas, and he struggled against the waves of energy. It became very apparent to Cas as to why Dean hasn’t used his soul to support himself. Emotions, so many emotions swirled and raged against each other. Confusions, shock, conflicts, insecurities, fear, embarrassment, and shame all trying to be locked away from the surface from crushing self hate and ridicule. Cas struggled to sort it all out but he was drowning and drowning and drowning in it. 

Where did all of this come from? Surely, one unsteady takeoff wouldn’t produce such overwhelming reactions? Even with Dean’s current turbulent soul. 

Cas switched tactics, letting Dean fill him as he retreated further within himself. He reached for his grace, the mere shards humming as they still produced the grace Heaven kept soaking up and funneled Dean’s everything to them. Cas didn’t know what would happen, but it has to be better than not even being aware of how they’re still in the air. 

Grace instantly surged within Cas, Dean’s soul morphing as it hit him and Cas was eating it. He was eating Dean’s soul to produce grace, he was- no, no he can’t do that. He has to stop this, he can’t eat that. No, no, no, that couldn’t happen. He couldn’t let that happen! 

Cas ripped himself away violently, all but shoving Dean back and still the soul continued to overpower him. He didn’t get a mere moment to adjust with the influx of grace before he was drowning all over again. He frantically quelled Dean’s shames and confusions that popped erratically, then trying to soothe all the anger twisting and roaring about. Yet it never worked, not fully, he couldn’t cover everything. There was just too much and the more Cas worked the more shame burst brighter only for self-hated to surge in response and Cas’s grace just wasn’t enough to try to manage all of that. 

Eventually, Cas figured out that he could condense everything to together and quickly cover it with his grace then it would almost explode. However, despite how guilty it made him feel, if Cas then reveals his own panic to Dean, Dean quickly grew guilty and dwindled into something with more self-hatred, that Cas was determined to address later, but the heavy slop his soul turned into was not as volatile. 

Still, the goopy soul cradled in Cas’s grace was an affront to Dean’s righteousness and Cas refused to let that exist, not if he could take direct action to change it. He wormed more of his grace in, burning it into Dean to try soothe the emotions. It partly worked. Cas, as all angels were, was an expert at modifying the human body with nothing but grace. However, even as the angel with the most experience dealing directly with souls, Castiel couldn’t quite help Dean when he was so determined to hold onto his deep-rooted emotions. 

Still, the self-hate dwindled, small victories that Cas will take, and Cas managed to mollify his guilt a bit a well. The shock abated naturally, but the confusion and a bit of shame shimmered persistently in the background. The insecurities were a rock, along with some of the self conflicts, but they retreated from Cas the moment he reached out with his grace. Cas wasn’t even sure if his grace could pick apart those. 

When he finally opened his eyes, he saw the sky. Frustratingly bright with a happy blue and no clouds, completely unperturbed by the internal battles that took place within him and Dean. Dean’s wings flapped briefly once every ten seconds or so, and if they were higher his wings would barely even flutter every minute. The jackets and shirt with two long silts for his wings waved and wormed slightly, but due to the wind and his wings, they couldn’t move much. 

Cas debated whether to move or not. Should he move, he might disturb Dean and bring them crashing down. Should he not, the success of Dean landing correctly was not in their favor. Moving, especially considering last night’s landing disaster, appealed greatly to him. His wings pressed tightly on his back and he wanted to stretch them, he wanted to fly now that they were freshly groomed. Dean must be tired from carrying him too, with Cas’s legs hooked on his and arms wrapped around his shoulders. 

Cas decided to move and, despite knowing he should, not to tell Dean. They did not need a repeat of what landed them in this situation, even if Cas didn’t regret alleviating some of the toxic emotions from Dean. 

He took a sharp inhale and wiggled out of Dean’s grasp while letting go of him. Dean almost grabbled for him back, but not nearly with the same panic, and Cas pushed off of him. For a second, gravity gleefully clawed at him, but Cas twirled around and let his wings finally snap out. 

Air rushed into his wings and streamed off of his feathers and, figuring his grace wouldn’t last long anyway and wanting to get it out of his system, Cas let it pulse down his wings and shot himself forward. Wind slammed against him and he laughed at it as he flew forward regardless. Dean would never hate flying once he figures out how to use his soul energy to his advantage, and Cas will never win a flying game ever. 

Dean barely even glanced at him when he caught up, keeping his head fixed forward. Cas saw how terribly close the bunker was, but if felt good to fly. He spun in the air, purposely knocking one of Dean’s wing as he did so, and lazily started to dive down towards to the bunker, before soaring up into a small loop. Beating harshly a few times to come to a nice stop, he walked forward a couple paces as to not force his knees to withstand all of the momentum. 

Cas turned, smiling as Dean circled above a few stories. “Hover and let yourself slowly fall!” 

Almost thirty seconds passed, seconds Cas assumed Dean filled with a self-pep talk, before Dean stalled in the air. His legs dangled down and arms out braced as if he were to suddenly drop, as he slowly and steadily lowered down to the ground. Cas held a small smile, watching the intense concentration on Dean’s face the closer he got to the ground. 

Dean sighed when his feet touched the ground, fluttering his wings to right himself before tucking them into his back. Cas gave him a moment, one filled with a few deep breaths from Dean, before Cas extended a wing towards the door. 

“I believe it was you who wanted to come back so quickly.” 

Dean huffed, rolling his eyes, and strode for the door gesturing vaguely. ”Yeah yeah, that was the first time I had to land, y’know, without soul grace stuff.” 

“You did fine.” Cas slipped beside him. “And a superb job on the grooming, it felt wonderful. Next time though, you don’t have to carry me.” 

“Hey-” 

“If you don’t wish we talk about it,” Cas regarded Dean with a level, and neutral, look. “Then we won’t. We will at some point, especially if it causes a incident, but I won’t pry.” 

Dean simply grunted and shielded his gaze away from Cas before taking a step ahead to enter the bunker. The metal door creaked loudly and slammed behind Cas, the stairs equally loud as they descended. 

As they entered, a strange and tense fuzziness pressed into his intestines. His feathers fluffed in response, and Cas focused on controlling his reactions. Painfully ignoring on what he is reacting to, he couldn’t this peace so soon. 


	8. The Winchester Movie Night

“Dean! Cas!” Sam smiled at them both widely, breaking away from a trio of hunters as they descended down the stairs, and arched a slight eyebrow at Dean to which Dean responded with a nod. “I was starting to get concerned how far you flew off yesterday with how long that took.” 

Cas smiled again, pushing down his uneasiness and feeling his well-groomed feathers ruffle together with no resistance. “I couldn’t have gotten far if I wanted to, my wings needed grooming. I’m afraid that’s the reason that delayed us.” 

Sam peaked behind his back, his smile never faltering. “Your wings do look quite slick. Although, if you don’t mind, I think the rest of today-” 

Dean huffed. “And tomorrow.” 

“-should be spent on the ground.” Sam elbowed his brother sharply. “Mom just got back, she’s showing Jack how to pop popcorn. Probably adding extra butter to it.” 

“Did you get-” 

“Yes Dean, I got the pie.” Sam smirked at Dean, gaze rather pointed though. “But you should wait until we at least get through a few movies.” 

“Okay, fine, is-” 

“And get this, Mom’s been pretty curious about what Harry Potter is, so that’s probably going to boot your horror movies off the playlist. As she said, horror doesn’t seem that different from what it’s always been.” 

Dean groaned and frowned. “Horror’s classic.” Dean nudged Cas with his wing, the feathers softly rubbing against each other. “You like horror dontcha Cas?” 

“It’s pleasant, but I wouldn’t mind a change.” Cas ignored Dean’s light punch to the arm. “From what I can recall from the memories Metatron gave me, it’s about a boy who lives?” Cas furrowed his brow, hearing the statement for himself. “Wait, am I remembering wrong? Don’t all boys have to be alive to be the protagonist of a story?” 

Sam laughed, “It’s good to see you alright again Cas. You’ll see soon enough.” With a quick gesture to the further end of the library, he walked backwards to the closer hallway. “You guys get comfortable with your wings, and we’ll join you shortly. I’m going to make sure no one’s burnt the popcorn yet.” 

“Hey Sam!” A younger female darted across them to get intercept Sam. “So, just to be sure, you want us to do this-” 

“Maggie, I’m confident the three of you. . .” 

Cas followed Dean towards the back of the library, the thought of being whisked away to another fictional world flitting through his thoughts. He doubted such a possibility, the Winchesters would have thoroughly checked for anything supernatural on their new tv. He chuckled almost mutely, that Shaggy and Scooby were very hard not to like. He was glad to have met them. The whole experience was one of the most enjoyable hunts they’ve been on. 

“Strange seeing Sammy being Fearless Leader to all these people. Maybe we’ll have the Men of Letters here after all, American style.” 

Cas hummed, falling beside Dean again once they got into the hallway. “The British Men of Letters do need to stay in Britain, or drastically change their operations before imposing themselves to other places. However, Sam is far from fearless. We all had many fears when Michael had control of you.” 

“No Cas, Fearless Leader is from The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show.” Dean shook his head, but Cas saw the brief smile. 

“I’m not familiar with that, does it perhaps have something to do with a squirrel and a moose?” Cas looked up, grappling for more memories. “They stopped the bad guys, correct?” 

Dean chuckled, “That’s basically sums it up. The squirrel was the smart one.” 

“Hmm, really?” Cas tried to see if his memories would support that, but they came through flimsy. “I suppose I must trust you on that.” 

“Maybe it’s on Netflix, I’ll show it to you. I know they made some sort of live-action one a while back too, I bet that’s pretty good.” 

They turned into the room, the lights on but forced to always be dim. The bar on the far side did have a slew of different drinks, including waters and sodas, and more couches have been crammed into the room. There was a long three-seater right in front of the screen, with a love seat tilted in off its right and a single seat off to its left. Should be adequate spacing for the five of them, even if two have wings. 

Dean grabbed a beer, instantly popping it open and taking a quick few gulps. “So I say we take the middle one, and then they can figure out who sits where else.” 

Cas looked at the couch, quickly running through the different positions they could be in. Most sent his wings twitching uncomfortably, as they involved the feathers mashed up against the back. If they lay down on opposite sides, for there to be enough room, that involved mashing his wings against the arm rest. 

“Well,” Cas glanced at Dean, who’s already half done with his beer. “I’m not sure how we could be comfortable, unless one of us lays on the other. Are you okay with that?” Cas frowned, taking the length of the couch into greater consideration. “Our feet would dangle off the arm rest and our wings would have to be pressed to our backs.” 

With that, Dean gulped down the rest of his drink and turned away from Cas to reach for another. “Okay, um. . .” Dean paused and reached behind the bar. “Oh hey, you might want these.” 

Dean tossed him a box of wet wipes, and the smell and dirt around him suddenly grew intolerable once reminded of it once again. “I cleaned up last night, but it doesn’t look like you did. I cut slits in most my clothes yesterday too, so just head to my room and change into something.” 

“Very well, I’ll be right back.” 

It wasn’t until Cas had left the room and started to undress in Dean’s room when he realized that Dean deflected the question. Cas frowned but let his mind wander as he struggled to get his trench coat off, ending up having to cut larger holes in all of the clothes he’s wearing, and wondered if Dean slept last night. His room seemed tidier than before, things that fell when he shrieked at Mary and Sam back in their right place. Plus, the bed was made. 

Cas sighed, and removed the rest of his clothes with ease. He hoped he didn’t cause that much distress. Not when he was the one who was injured. He was the one who fled. He was the one who persisted on practicing their flight. Dean shouldn’t feel guilty or worried when it was Cas who ruined that night. 

With those thoughts, Cas failed to find any sort of happiness scrubbing the dirt off himself. He used a total of three of those wipes, getting everywhere except the middle of his back since he couldn’t get past his wings and, well...

Cas knew for a fact that he would grow erect if he tried to scrub himself clean. The organ simply didn't respond to his commands without grace, and knowing that it’s incredibly rude to be like that when they’re watching a movie, Cas opted not to mess with it. Yet knowing that he’s still not clean itched him in a way indescribably frustrating, dirt and sweat still festering around his groin. 

He reached for his grace, the wisps leftover from earlier already sucked almost completely dry. For the good of Heaven, Cas figured it was best for Heaven to take everything he produces. It made him feel human, so very human, but it was a fate he had to accept for being such a large contributor for the death of so many angels. However, he had enough grace to clean himself, and that would be enough for now. 

Cas picked out his, Dean’s, clothes, pulling up boxers and sweats and socks before trying to put anything on his chest. Cas ended up with a gray shirt on, a pale light brown stain on the side, and wearing a blue flannel over that. He only picked the shirt at first, but the cold pricked at his arms, and so he put the flannel on. 

His wings folded snuggly on his back as he piled his dirty clothes to the side, unsure of where to put them. He did make a mental note to put buttons on the bottom of these silts, that should solve the problem of the strips constantly brushing over his skin in an unwanted tickling manner. 

Pausing briefly to enter a bathroom to throw away the wet wipes, Cas soon smelt the butter flowing from the Dean Cave. Cas licked his lips, his stomach muscles vibrating at the thought of food, a low growling noise that he was able to hear. It’s been way too long since he’s eaten. 

Cas entered the room, ignoring the eyes of Dean and Mary that fell on him, and locked onto the bowls of popcorn resting on the bar as Sam explained the DVD system to Jack. 

“Castiel-” 

“So hey, Cas,” Dean cut off his mother, and the teasing tone in her voice. “Clothes fit good?” 

“Yes, they are fine.” Cas went straight for the biggest popcorn bowl, consequently next to Dean, and experimented with how many he could fit in his mouth at once. Not that he was particularly counting, but his stomach didn’t seem to care about that. 

“Castiel,” Mary touched his shoulder lightly. “We need that to last for at least one movie.” 

“Apologizes.” Cas gulped, refraining from continuing to eat more. “It’s very good and-” 

His stomach clenched up again, very dissatisfied at the lack of new food coming in and vibrated again. The low growling noise much louder this time and Cas pulled his hand back, unsure if he was even allowed to have any more now. 

Even Jack heard over Sam’s instructions, and perked his head up with a tilt. “Was that your stomach?” 

“Yes,” Resisting the urge to scratch at his neck, Cas folded his hands in front of him. “I have not yet had breakfast.” 

“Well then,” Dean gestured with his beer. “It’s yours, although I might take some from time to time.” 

Cas smiled at Dean and began to eat again. Not with the same fervor as before, but he didn’t stop as he nodded in the direction of the couch. Nor did he stop when Dean’s fingers holding onto the beer turned white at the knuckles and Dean finished his second. 

“Once the movie’s ready to go.” Dean, ignoring the confused frown of his mother, grabbed a water bottle, black and with a straw, and handed it to him. “This is for you. Thirty-two ounces, and it should fit your trench coat pockets. If not, just hold it or latch it onto, uh-” Dean picked at the straps his belt went through. “Latch it onto these thingies.” 

“Thank you Dean.” 

Dean grunted, sipping on his third beer. “Don’t thank me, Sammy bought it last night.” 

Cas nodded and ate more of the popcorn before turning to Mary. “How did your hunt go?” 

“Oh fine,” Mary waved her hand, glancing between him and Dean. “Things must have been more interesting here, but I needed to get out.” 

“Understandable.” Cas tilted his head at her, ready with another handful of popcorn once he finishes speaking. “I heard that it caused no problems?” 

Mary snorted. “Bobby sure has a snoring problem but sleeping with that was the most difficult part of the trip. It barely even counts as a hunt at all. I felt more like a scolding mother if anything.” 

“Did the-” 

“We’re ready!” They all turned to Sam, who nodded at Jack, and the mute was off. The theme song played in the background for a few seconds before Jack pressed play and the screen transitioned. 

Mary grabbed two waters and a coke, handing the coke to Jack before sitting next to Sam on the loveseat. Sam had a popcorn bowl for the two of them to share and passed the smaller bowl to Jack, sharing with no one as he sat on the single chair. 

Dean sighed and grabbed an extra beer before laying down on the couch, resting his head on the pillow and setting both beers on the table. He glared at the tv, and Cas noted the quick glances the other three shared as he approached. Cas realized this was beyond the social norms, but changes have to be made when they both have such large appendages on their backs. 

Cas set his water bottle next to Dean’s drinks and quickly adjusted himself on top of Dean. He acknowledged the surprise on the other’s faces, but his stomach demanded he kept the popcorn safe. He could not afford to lose any of the buttery and salty goodness. 

Like Dean’s, his right wing followed up the curve from the back of the couch, as it was simply impossible to hold it so tight and still be comfortable. Cas stretched his left wing for a moment, smiling at the sheen still present on the feathers and how that changed with the screen’s lightning, but then tucked in close similar to Dean. 

It wasn’t exactly petting or any form of stroking, but when their feathers on the right and left wing brushed and rubbed against each other, they both let out a content sigh. 

Only five minutes passed before Dean snaked an arm from beneath his wing and grabbed some popcorn. Which then lead to a muttered curse when he couldn’t get the popcorn back to his mouth without dragging the buttered and salted popcorn through Cas’s feathers. Cas mutely chuckled and glanced behind him, holding a small handful above Dean’s mouth for him to have. It took him a moment to understand yet complied soon enough. Though it took only moments before there was an arm above Cas's wing to reach the popcorn bowl.

The first movie finished much quicker than Cas anticipated, and asked for the case when Sam put in the next one. Cas huffed and set it down when it read over two hours, and even disregarding the features they didn’t watch, that still felt like so little time passed compared to reality. 

Although they finished their popcorn and Cas has downed most of his water, during the first movie, Jack dumped his in their bowl claiming that the popcorn made his stomach upset. Cas’s stomach disagreed with such a statement but was happy to lift him of that burden. Especially when Sam said Jack could have a sensitivity to gluten, or just wasn’t used to the high sodium amounts, and that was fairly common with humans, so it wasn’t a problem to be concerned with. 

The movie glitched during a portion, Sam said it had a scratch and would just skip over the part soon, and Sam then asked what everyone’s favorite character was so far. Jack took a liking to Ron, as Jack often laughed during his scenes, and Mary said she would decide after watching a bit more. Cas admitted to Hermione, as he approved of her vast knowledge on the threats and spells most critical for the others to know for their survival. 

Sam and Dean couldn’t voice their opinions, and Cas wanted to say Dean had a favorite since he did laugh alongside the rest of them on the punchlines- proving he was paying attention despite the veto of his horror- as the glitch was over and the movie played again. It did skip a section, but everyone figured out what happened or simply didn’t think it important. 

The conclusion of the second movie had everyone getting up for something. Dean and Mary left to get the pies and pop more popcorn, Dean taking Cas’s water bottle to fill it up, and the rest of them left for the bathroom. Jack practically sprinted out, and Cas smiled at it. The troubles of urinating, despite the urge to go relieve himself as well built up, were amusing to watch in others. 

“He’s adapted well.” Cas turned to Sam, still smiling. “How goes his training with Bobby?” 

Sam shrugged, finishing off a water bottle and tossing it in the general direction of the bar. “Good, all things considering. Bobby says he isn’t aggressive enough, too hesitant, but I’m thinking of pairing him with Maggie when he’s more prepared. I think they’ll help each other.” 

“You mentioned that we may all go on a hunt soon? I would ask somewhere farther out, I want to show Dean endurance flying. He should be a natural at it with his wing shape.” 

Sam nodded, “Yeah, if you think you guys are up for it, I’ll find something out there. Team Free Will 2.0, mother included.” 

“Good, I think a hunt will do some good for Dean.” Cas grinned and nodded towards the door. “Don’t play the next movie without me.” 

“Promise.” Sam turned around to the bar as Cas walked out the door. So far, the Harry Potter movies have been entertaining and endearing. It was funny, and despite all the pressure the three friends had to succeed, there were all always older and wiser professors to help them. The danger always seemed contained even if they were to fail. 

Cas finished with his business in the bathroom, thankful for the shape of the toilet as it gives room for his wings on the side of him, and- 

”Jack!” He scurried over to him, the graceless Nephilim leaning heavily on the wall for support. “Jack, are you alright? What’s wrong?” 

His wings tensed up on his back and he grabbed Jack’s left arm, moving in front of Jack to slide his hand over his forehead. Cas barely even registered the high temperature as a pungent smell, burningly acidic, seared up through his nostrils. Cas may not know much about gluten indigestion, but that couldn’t be the proper reaction. 

“I feel faint, dizzy. . .” Jack glanced up at him, sweat breaking across his forehead. “Something’s wrong with me, it all feels so, so wrong. My stomach, it burns and it’s tight-” 

“It’s okay,” Cas moved Jack’s left arm over his shoulders as he looped an arm under his right shoulder, hauling Jack up from the wall. “Let’s get you back and we'll fix it. We’ll fix it.” 

Jack simply nodded, dragging his feet forward with Cas. His wings trembled tightly pressed against his back as Jack shuddered next to him, lurching forward and collapsing slightly. A worrying gagging choked noise gurgled from his throat, and Cas’s own stomach clenched as if bile were trying to escape it too. Blood mixed into the sharp acidity in the air, the odor thickening with each breath Jack gave.

Cas hurried his steps to the Dean Cave, hoping Dean would be back. Dean’s soul might not be ready for what Cas has planned, but he should calm down when he sees Jack so sick. Or at least, become panicked enough to where Cas only has to direct that one emotion as he funnels Dean’s energy into Jack. 

“Dean!” Cas hoisted Jack further on his feet as Jack continued to waver and opened the door. “Dean!” 

“Holy shit Cas!” All three Winchesters stood straight when he dragged Jack in before Jack’s knees buckled, and his weight collapsed. His body slipped from Cas’s gasp and softly collided into the floor, blood dribbling from his mouth. 

Cas knelt and pressed a hand to his forehead, heat and sweat radiating off it, as Cas held his other hand out for Dean. He distantly noticed the others crowd around Jack as Dean knelt beside him and grabbed his hand, his soul easily flowing into Cas and held there in wait. 

Grabbing the last few remnants of his grace, he reached out to Jack. Dean’s soul throbbed, begging to be of help, but Cas scanned Jack with his grace for efficiency. 

_Fucking dammit Cas, how do we fix that?_ Cas sighed, internally and perhaps externally, that Dean was reading his thoughts as he listed off all the issues he found, out of habit mostly. He didn’t blame Dean for thinking that, especially if he heard the entire list. Jack’s body was in havoc. Organs releasing hormones prematurely and cells failing to do their proper job. Multi-system failures and a small cancerous tumor starting to develop in the liver, probably from cells dividing prematurely to keep up with the sudden demands in the wake of the removed grace. 

_You might need to take a nap after this,_ Cas soothed his grace over Jake and set up the foundation of the healing. He doubted he could perform such a healing miracle on his own even before they found Dean. Thankfully, Dean’s soul was eager to help. 

He sucked Dean’s soul energy from him, flowing it into Jack and holding his body together. He washed out and eliminated the excess hormones flooding his system, he mended the damage of failing cells have caused in their wake, he tinkered with cells to fix their nondisjunction problems, he settled the stomach and set the digestion system on the right track again, and he trained the immune system to attack pathogens instead of Jack’s own cells. 

By the time he finished, his grace waned into almost nothing with the struggle to mitigate and direct the sheer strength of Dean’s soul. Still, Jack’s body was now in the perfect condition to stay steady as it figured out how do metabolize and function without his grace. It may take a while for him to be completely independent, but Jack hasn’t hit his second birthday yet, it’s understandable. 

He pulled away from Jack, and in the mist of his relief that the grace created from eating Dean’s soul was gone, almost missed how diminished Dean’s soul was. Far gone was the crushing waves that consumed him, it seemed smaller, too small compared to normal souls. 

Cas latched onto Dean before he could pull out, grabbing onto his forearm when Dean attempted to rear back. Cas quickly scanned over his soul, looking for potential holes or perhaps a weak spot. None of Dean’s soul should have burned in this, Cas was so sure the nature had changed enough where that would be impossible, but he wasn’t paying enough attention and he burnt some of Dean’s soul. 

Foolish, so foolish. 

Cas checked, double checked, and then triple checked for good measure until he felt relief again. Dean’s soul didn’t burn, the parts wholly Dean and not simple excess energy coiled within him. Granted, it did seem a bit small compared to a normal soul, but nothing was weak. Like the essence of Dean simply moved and bunched together to give keep giving power. 

Relaxing slightly, Cas released Dean and turned his attention back onto Jack. He glanced up at the worried faces of Sam and Mary, Dean had his eyes closed as a thin exhale blew from his nose, and he nodded once. They both let out a sigh of relief, their shoulders slumping down, and Cas stood and stepped back as Sam bent to grab- 

Jack sharply inhaled, everyone pausing as he blinked and sat up whist wiping the blood from his mouth. Jack looked at Sam then Dean, tilted his head at the ground, and frowned as he looked at Cas. Cas stared back, trying to see if there was any pain in his eyes, and saw nothing but confusion. 

“Jack,” Cas gave him a hand. “Are you alright now?” 

Jack grabbed his hand, not even stumbling as he gained footing. “Yes, I believe so. My stomach pains have gone away, and I no longer feel so feverish. Am I healed?” Jack glanced briefly towards Dean, then turned towards Sam and Mary for conformation. 

Sam raised an eyebrow at Cas, attention on him now. “Is he healed?” 

“Yes, his body was in a state of failure, which must have worsened the longer he’s been completely human, and I put back into sync. It’s not the same as when he had his own grace, but enough to keep him steady as he adapts. We may have to redo that in a month, but the time in between should continuously lengthen until he doesn’t need it anymore.” 

Jack nodded, and Mary spared a quick glance at Sam- who responded with a nod- and Dean sighed next to him. Cas glanced to Dean, took note of his wings drooped behind him and his tired eyes. He didn’t seem on the verge of falling asleep, but Cas recognized it as the I’ve-been-driving-all-day-long-and-Baby-I-love-you-but-I-need-something-other-than-asphalt-right-now face. 

“So,” Jack glanced over to the pie and new popcorn bowls on the bar. “Can I call dibs on the cherry pie?” 

Dean perked up a bit, wings hanging down still. “I lay claim on apple, you guys fight for the rest.” 

Sam walked to the bar and started cutting the pie. “How about, get this, we cut it and share the pieces between us?” 

“Wonderful idea Sam,” Mary rubbed his back, completely ignoring Dean’s groan. “I knew one of you would turn out to be mature.” 

Mary threw a smirk with teasing eyes over at Dean, who silently grumbled at the air as he walked over and started to complain about a lack of whipped cream. 

“Jack, how are you?” Cas turned, lowering his voice down to not disturb the Winchesters. “I know we haven’t spoken much with as of late and-” 

“Cas,” Jack smiled at him, and Cas distantly felt his wings relaxing. “I know you’ve had your hands filled with Dean. I still have Sam, and Mary, and Bobby, and I have the other hunters as well. You don’t have to worry about me.” 

Cas wanted to say that he still should have talked to him before now, but Jack beamed with pride at how he’s adapted to the situation and Cas couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips. “I will constantly be worried about you, but I’m happy you’ve been doing well.” Cas glanced back at the Winchesters, and at the sight of them struggling to divide the pie, he turned back to Jack. “What are the other hunters like?” 

Jack’s grinned widened, eyes lighting up. “Oh, everyone’s been strong. I am aware because of your status as an angel and now the wings they aren’t very comfortable with you yet, but they’re loyal once you have their trust. Everyone has been determined to build something out of this world, a few are getting prepared to leave the bunker soon. Some will stay with the hunter life-” 

“Okay, I think we’re ready for the movie now!” Sam grabbed a popcorn bowl, with a too wide smile aimed at his brother. “Right Dean?” 

Dean grunted, his wings slightly shifting in but otherwise remaining limp. “Yeah, I suppose so.” 

Jack and Cas shared a small chuckled, and Cas patted Jack’s shoulder twice before they walked to the bar. Jack tucked a water bottled into his arm and side before grabbing a plate of pie and a popcorn bowl. Sam and Mary also moved to their couch as Dean’s eyes flickered from the couch, to Cas, to his plate of pie. 

As Dean’s face wrinkled in thought, Cas realized what he wanted and thought of a plan. “I could be on bottom, if you’re more comfortable with that.” 

Cas frowned with Dean straightened up, the limp wings behind him finding the strength to snapped to his back and puff up. Cas wasn’t aware of what could have been misinterpreted from what he said, or anything that could be embarrassing. Yet Dean fixed his eyes on their popcorn bowl, still the biggest, and drummed his fingers on the bar. 

“Oh, okay, uh yeah, sure.” Dean sharply shook his head, a silent quick snarl on his lips as he then took a breath. “But you can’t have any pie then.” 

“We'll keep the tin on the floor.” 

Dean whipped his head to eye Cas, surprise fluttering across his face before the Winchester clamped down on it. He nodded and grabbed the popcorn bowl, which still had half of the apple pie in it, muttering a distinct ‘Of course’ and other words that grew too quiet for Cas to hear. 

Cas grabbed the pie tin and his filled water bottle and set the both down on the ground before swinging his legs onto the couch. He relaxed as he dipped into the couch, his left wing hanging off the side before he pulled it back in. By the time Dean approached him, Cas chewed on his second bite of pie and Sam pressed play on the third movie.

Dean paused briefly in front of Cas, his feathers still puffed, before he plopped down on Cas. Dean’s sudden weight pushed a little oof out of Cas’s lungs, but Dean didn’t seem to care as he adjusted onto Cas in a matter of seconds before chomping on a handful of popcorn. 

Going along with Dean’s fast as possible approach to getting comfortable, Cas wiggled down a bit. Until Dean’s head rested on his chest rather than previous awkward location of when his head was partly on his chest and partly on his stomach. Dean’s feathers were softer in their puffed-up state when Cas’s feathers brushed against his. Although as Cas smiled and sighed softly, Dean wiggled. 

It took until Dementors attacked the Hogwarts train until Dean relaxed. His wings stayed puffy, although calmed a bit, and Cas could no longer hear Dean’s thick swallows of popcorn. So far, Dean hasn’t even had any pie yet, but as Cas kept reaching for bite after bite, he wasn’t particularly remorseful about that. 

Close to the climax of the movie, popcorn and pie- they did end up sharing a bit- and his water bottle almost gone, Cas heard Dean snort at Ron and the chest on top of him shook slightly in contained laughter. Cas wasn’t exactly sure what made Dean so tense in the first place, but by the time the fourth movie played, it was gone. 

Although, it was short lived. Dean stopped laughing soon before the second trial and fell asleep before the movie ended. Cas smiled down at him, not concerned if Dean will be mad at missing the movie, and Cas figured he could use the sleep. His soul has to regenerate more of itself and Cas did have suspicions Dean didn’t sleep well the night before either. 

When the sweet pie mixed with some of the salty popcorn started to desiccate his entire mouth, Cas hit Dean’s third beer as he grabbed his water bottle. It clinked against the floor deeply, completely full, and rolled as Cas drained the rest of his water. His stomach settled, very satisfied, and his mouth moist again as he returned focus on the movie. 

Cas at least finished the fourth movie, but with Dean peacefully sleeping on top of him, sleep began to lull him as well. He knew, on some level, there was a larger time gap to play the fifth movie, but his sense of time only registered a couple of seconds. He heard Ron and Hermione and Harry, but he couldn’t get a grip on what they were saying most of the time. 

The third time he jolted his head up, he didn’t concern himself with doing so a fourth time. He smiled, at least he thinks he did, as his eyes drooped shut with no resistance. 

“Cas!” Dean jostled Cas as he leaped up off him. “Cas! Are you-” 

“Dean,” Cas took huge breaths of air as he woke, fatigue muddy and heavy in his body. “What’s the emergency for you to wake me?” 

Dean snorted and whacked him on the head. “You weren’t breathing! I woke up and your chest wasn’t moving! I thought-” 

Cas groaned and rubbed his temples, taking note of the empty room. “I could not live if I wasn’t breathing, you must be mistaken.” 

“Okay, maybe your chest did move a centimeter up and then down, that’s still not enough!” Dean glared down at him. “There’s something wrong with you.” 

Cas laid back down, almost falling asleep again, and tried to think of something to allay Dean’s fears. “I don’t feel as if something’s wrong with my respiratory system-” 

“Well there is.” Dean kicked aside the stuff on the ground, plastic and glass rattling. “And I am going to go in there and figure out what it is.” 

“You are not adept enough-” 

“Good thing you aren’t concussed and can help me out.” Dean knelt and used both hands to hold Cas’s face. “Now, you can either speed this up by helping or just be grumpy and have this take forever, your call.” 

Cas, ignoring the sudden urge to roll his eyes, stared at Dean. “Your soul probably hasn’t recovered enough to do this. I would not recommend an attempt.” 

Dean only snorted before Cas felt the already familiar push of soul into him. It stayed focus on his upper body and then stayed exclusively in Cas’s head after Dean did a quick check on his lungs and trachea. Nothing there, and Dean tried to manage his way in Cas’s brain. 

Cas took pity on the thinner soul, despite still being so very tired, and helped him navigate the human brain. He couldn’t do much, not on himself and not without grace, but he provided much better instructions than last time Dean tried healing him. 

_Central sleep apnea, that’s what you’re looking for._ Cas huffed, unable to stop the frown at how long that took him to remember. 

_What?_

_It’s a sleeping disorder where the diaphragm and the chest muscles don’t consistently receive the message to breathe._ Cas felt Dean still, not that his brain sent any signals regarding feeling, but he felt a press on his scapulars lift. _The problem should be in my medulla, it’s by the spinal cord._

 _Jesus Cas, I told you weren’t fucking breathing._ Dean focused his attention there, and Cas could feel the weight return to his feathers. 

_Technically, I was breathing. Central sleep apnea happens in bouts, although it does explain why it’s become difficult for me to wake up if I never properly slept in the first place._ Cas hummed, seeing a silly image of Dean tweaking the wires of his car except the wires were replaced by Cas’s neurons. _It’s good you noticed, such a disorder would have caused me to become moody and fatigued during the day with time._

_Yeah, yeah, no need to thank me or anything._

Cas smiled and rolled his eyes again, too tired to care about the human habits wiggled into him. _Thank you Dean, it’s much appreciated._

_You’re welcome feather-brain._ The statement sounded snorted, but a warm glow filtered into Cas and Cas decided not to expose Dean about it. 

Dean buzzed in him and while Cas could feel Dean’s focus, he felt his fading. It has been established that he hasn’t been sleeping well, and Dean doesn’t seem to be ruining anything, so a few more hours of sleep couldn’t hurt. 

_Cas. . ._ The soul in him shook slightly in mirth before glowing warm again. Something brushed over his cheek, and oh, it was so soft, so very soft. _Sleepy little angel._

Cas sighed, and nodded against the soft and warm brush. Dean didn’t seem mad and Cas trusted Dean will be fine if Cas falls asleep. Completely fine. 

Absolutely fine.


	9. Time to Hunt

“Goddamnnit!” Dean stumbled back as his wings caught onto the entrance into the kitchen. The feathers pulled and his shoulders pinched, and Dean grumbled before correctly walking back into the kitchen. 

“Come on, money, money, money. . .” Dean opened the fridge and- “Jackpot!” 

Pulling out the leftover cherry pie, Dean didn’t even bother with a plate and grabbed a fork to eat it out of the tin. He grabbed a beer and popped it open, gulping quarter of it as he exited the kitchen. He kept his wings to his back and tried to not even notice the strange looks he got from the hunters as he looked for Sam. 

As suspected, Sam was typing away on his precious laptop- how that thing always functioned so freaking fast when Dean’s phone would buffer during every Netflix show he watched was beyond him. 

“Hey Sam,” Dean plopped on a chair, and sprung back up as he smashed his feathers against his butt and the stupid chair. “Man, I’m never gonna get used to this.” 

Rotating the chair so the back was facing the table, Dean shoved his legs between the armrests and the back. He shifted, stretching his wings out and damnnit that felt good, but Dean felt slightly trapped by the chair. As he couldn’t just jump out of it if he needed to, but at least he could sit. 

“So graceful. . .” Sam smirked at him, leaning back in his chair. 

“Don’t be a bitch,” Dean scooped some more precious pie into his mouth. “And how the hell are you awake? Didn’t you stay up longer than me?” 

Sam scoffed and arched an eyebrow, “Why aren’t you in a good mood? And for your information, I slept an amazing six hours while you had a selfish dose of about, oh I dunno, ten hours of sleep.” 

“Whatever.” Dean rolled his eyes, swiping the teasing away from him. “My soul needed to recover. How’s Jack?” 

“I can assure you he had a much better breakfast-” Sam didn’t even bat an eye when Dean glared at him- “and Jack’s totally fine. Temperature’s good, no stomach problems, no coughs, you and Cas have him all stitched up.” 

“Well that’s something.” Dean drained the rest of his beer, kicking himself for not taking two with him, and took another bite of pie. Thing almost gone already. 

Sam frowned, “Did something happen?” 

“No, course not.” Dean huffed and gobbled more of the pie. “Why do you ask?” 

“So that’s a yes, is it with Cas?” 

Dean paused, throwing another glare at Sam. “Nothing’s wrong with Cas.” 

“Totally with Cas.” Sam, the bastard, had the audacity to nod and stroke his little scruff growing into something bread worthy like he was some therapist. “I’m assuming you guys didn’t have a fight since you’re not in rage mode, but there’s something you should probably be talk about with him?” 

Dean gestured wildly, frustrated with his brother and that he just finished the pie. “What’s with the Dr. Phil act? Nothing’s wrong Sam!” 

Sam smirked at pointed behind him. “Take a look at your wings Dean.” 

Dean sucked in a sharp breath as he noticed the tense limbs stuffing themselves on his back. He threw a scowl at the table, feathers rubbing against each other in a very not convincing matter. Damn these stupid wings. 

“So,” Sam pushed his laptop his away and leaned forward. “Now that you know you can’t really lie, care to tell me what’s going on?” 

Dean’s kept his face locked into the death glare he had at Sam. But his heart constricted against his will, and Dean had no more control over that than when his wings flared out and towered above him after whacking several chairs. 

Stupid fucking wings. 

Sam sighed, looking completely done with Dean’s shit but damn Dean if he spills. Sam glanced around and sighed again. “Look, I’ll get Mom and let’s see if you pull this aggressive silent thing with her.” 

“Wow, so mature, getting Mom.” Dean rolled his eyes, and while his wings trembled as he pulled them down, Dean didn’t want to face Mom with two lie detectors on his back. “But since you’re so concerned with it, Cas can’t sleep.” 

“What?” Sam snapped upright. “Is he alright? Is some sort of trauma thing or-” 

“No, well, I don’t know.” Dean shrugged and kept his wings somewhat relaxed despite his instincts trying to get them to move. “He called it central sleep apnea, something about his brain not telling his lungs to breathe all through the night.” 

Sam’s eyes widened, something Dean would laugh at if he wasn’t so focused on keeping his wings in the relaxed position. “You’re saying he’s not breathing. Did you fix it?” 

“If I fixed then I probably wouldn’t be telling you it’s a problem.” Dean sighed and forced his wings to move and down with him, despite them trying to telegraph to Sam that Dean’s avoiding the main thing. But that’s- stupid wings thinking the most trivial thing is important. 

Sam looked to the hallways. “He’s alright though? Like, he’s not going to die in his sleep or something?” 

“According to him, it happens in bouts or something. He’ll live, but he won’t really sleep. Turns out, since this isn’t an injury, it’s incredibly hard to just magic it away.” 

Sam sighed, again, and scratched at his scruff. “Probably why Cas never wiped trauma out of our heads. Do you think you could, if you have to, give Cas a boost when he gets too tired? I think I got a hunt for us.” 

Dean frowned, didn’t even try to stop the surprised flutter in his wings. “Hunt? For all us?” 

Sam smiled and rolled his eyes. “Cas must not have told you, but I wanted us to all go on a hunt together. He specifically requested something far away for you to practice flying.” 

Groaning, Dean locked his wings down to a droop and profusely ignored the strong thump his heart did. “Freakin’ awesome. What did you find?” 

“In central Washington,” Sam smirked at Dean and moved on despite his scowl. “A body was just found in one of the orchids. Cause of death: hypothermia due to extreme blood loss.” 

“You thinking vamps?” 

“Ding ding,” Sam typed some more on his computer, “The official report puts the blame on her abusive parents, as the girl ran away about a week or so and the body was found was found with whip lashes and trauma on her arms and torso. But-” 

Dean snarled, “It’s some jerks playing with their food.” 

“So, I’m going to tell Mom and Jack, and we’ll head out. I’m assuming you and Cas will beat us there even if we have a head start, if you think Cas is up for it that is.” Sam’s eyes flickered to his wings, which Dean has kept in check, before leveling him with a stare. 

“Cas’ll be fine. I’ll give him a jump if he needs it.” Dean, with as much dignity as he could, pulled his legs from the chair. “Nothing good old caffeine can’t fix either.” 

Sam huffed and stood too. “Geez, at this rate Cas will have your bad habits.” 

“Better than letting him become some hippie like you.” Dean turned away from Sam, trying to keep his wings relaxed still. 

“You’re just jealous of my amazing life choices.” 

Dean simply snorted, tucking his wings in once he got into the hallways. Cas slept for at least a half hour of good sleep while Dean was trying to rewire his neurons- a sentence Dean never thought would apply to him. Sure, the man will definitely have to change and go to the bathroom before they head out, but they had time to spare. Flying must be faster than Sam’s careful driving. 

Dean frowned, wondering if Cas has been brushing his teeth. He certainly hasn’t been combing his hair and Dean supposed the stupid angel hasn’t been taking care of himself. Not with his terribly inconvenient sleeping order keeping him tired and Dean’s soul causing him problems when he’s awake. 

With the firm resolve to take care of his friend, another firm resolve ignoring whatever vibration that traveled from his stomach to his wings, Dean entered the Dean Cave again. He has to thank whoever cleaned the place, although they could’ve left some beers behind, ‘cause he could use another. 

“Hey man,” Dean tugged on a wing, before the thing pushed him away as a sleepy grumble left Cas’s lips. “Dude, come on, don’t be like this. You gotta get up. I promise coffee if you do. Hey, Cas! Wake up!” 

Cas startled, gasping as his eyes fluttered open. He took a few deep breaths, his left wing extending in a stretch, before looking up Dean. His freaking hair looking greasy and completely ruffled as if he did a few rounds with someone on the couch. Again, Dean ignored whatever queasy clench his just did. Must’ve been the mix of beer and pie. Definitely the- 

“Dean? Do you need me?” 

“What? No, not- Well,” Dean cleared his throat, his feathers puffed with his heart and stomach having a freaking panic attack at both his thoughts and Cas’s stupid thunderstormish grumble. “Sam got a hunt. You kinda have to be awake to fly there.” 

“Oh,” Cas coughed a bit, and swung his legs off the couch. “Are we leaving now?” 

Dean rolled his eyes, determined as hell to be frustrated rather than question his stupid organs. “Are we leaving now? Seriously? You have to change, eat breakfast, have a good cup of coffee, comb your hair, and brush your teeth. You do have a toothbrush, right?” 

Cas frowned and looked entirely annoyed that he has to take care of himself. “No, I don’t. Do I have to borrow one?” 

“Don’t ever borrow someone’s toothbrush. Ever. There’s probably a spare in one of the bathroom’s cupboards.” Dean walked out, waving Cas to hurry up. “Now, don’t take forever. But change and come eat breakfast first. Food before brushing.” 

Dean stalked off to the kitchen, not looking back at Cas, with the sole thought on his mind on making coffee. Probably wouldn’t hurt if he had a batch either, or maybe another beer. Anything at this point. 

Because whatever the hell that was making his heart beat faster and his stomach quiver nauseously needed to get out of him. 

~~~

L brushed her teeth, the electric toothbrush buzzing as she polished each of her teeth. She spat and looked back at the mirror before pushing her fangs out, preparing her toothbrush again and whitening those teeth as well. 

After all, nice smelling breath made it easier to get a buzzed man to make quicker decisions. 

She smirked at her reflection after she spits again; it also didn’t hurt seeing the sheer terror in their eyes when her fangs came out and dazzled white either. 

With a quick mouth washing and gurgling, L left the bathroom to get ready for bed. Her phone buzzed in her hand and she rolled her eyes at the text to do her homework. She sighed and decided to go to bed anyway. L snatched up another one today, even if it wasn’t prime blood, it was better than Dillon and Amelia. Those lazy slugs didn’t even bother to show up to their where they decided to hunt, so L did everything herself. 

As if Patrick heard her, she got the next text informing her how important it was she mastered making fake identities and keeping out of hunter sights. Ever since they gunned down the Alpha, everyone in their nest had been ordered on how to survive if they ever find themselves on a hunter’s radar. Running was the first option if alone. Despite a vampire's strength, hunters were calm and prepared for them. 

She flopped down on her bed, and pulled out her work, detailing her plan if she came face-to-face with such a threat. After about getting five minutes in, when the next text came through, she snapped a picture and sent it with a note to stop bothering her. 

Putting away her homework, she almost got comfortable before a dragging sound and loud laughter disturbed her. She groaned, what the heck did a girl have to do around here to get some privacy? Huffing, she stomped up to her door and yanked it open. 

“Do you mind? Some people- Ooh~” L smirked, leaning up against the frame. “Who’s the chains for?” 

The couple of guys smiled, their excitement had their fangs fully extended, and lifted their arms to show off the half inch thick chains, chains which originated from the anchor of some food’s yacht.“We caught something, something big. And these are for holding it down when it turns.” 

L arched an eyebrow, taking another look at the thirty some feet of steel chains. “Oh whatever did we catch?” 

“No idea, but Pat’s sure as hell excited about it.” Mace and Kian grinned at each other. “But word is that’s it’s another supernatural creature.” 

“Whoa, shouldn’t that be like, y’know, impossible?” 

Kian shrugged, “Have no clue. Must be pretty weak for it to happen. My guess is some werewolf fleeing a hunter who shot it with one of those nice silver bullets.” 

L frowned, trying to see his logic. “What makes you say that?” 

“Well, for starters,” Mace gestured down the hallway. “We’re caging the unlucky bastard in cage in the ceiling above the main room. Y’know, that one where we store food to make them stop being so damn irritating.” 

L rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’s fantastic, we’ll store the crazy creature in the broken cage. If some girl broke out of it, what makes this a good idea?” 

“No, no, you’re missing the point.” Mace grumbled; his poor man pride hurt at her teasing. “Since the only entrance- here just come on. We’ll show you.” 

Sighing, but ultimately too curious, L pushed off the door frame and followed. “I still don’t see how that broken cage will make any difference.” 

Kian scoffed, “That’s ‘cause Mace didn’t explain how it’s been reinforced. Perhaps even doubled or tripled, all I know is that Dennis has been complaining about working all day in that cramped space to wield steel bars into it.” 

“Dennis is a wuss. He’s picky with his food and picky with his work.” 

“Well, I was going to get to that,” The trio climbed the stairs out of the basement. “But I was working up to it and now the moment’s gone. Thanks Kian.” 

“Anytime.” 

The walked to the main entrance. It looked like a normal rich grand entrance hall, pictures and a polished hardwood floor, but the three knew there were cameras in the paintings and hidden trap doors. Every hallway into it had gates that could slide shut and doors all reinforced steel, designed to look like wood, with hinges and locks hidden from within the hall. There were speakers in the potted plants, which while helpful for meetings, all these measures were taken for whenever hunters decided to knock on their door. 

The biggest trap that not even expert hunters could see. 

“So,” Mace gestured up to the ceiling and dropped the chain, Sarah on a ladder into the cage. “We’re gonna wrap the sucker up and haul him up, and whatever hunter after him or whenever a hunter decides to burst in, we drop him.” 

L opened her mouth and huffed when Kian cut her off. “Hey Sarah! We got the chain!” 

“Great! I’ll be right down.” 

“Okay then,” L elbowed Kian, “So the hunter is gonna have a piñata hanging in front of them. How scary. That thing will be dead in seconds.” 

“Oh-” 

“This is the best part.” Mace glared at Kian, determined to say this one himself. “One of the things Dennis added was a remote that detaches the chain to the pulley. So-” 

Sarah cut in, smiling wide with her fangs out and a wide look in her eyes. “When we open the trapdoor, a deranged crazy monster will be landing right on top of any hunters trying to mess with us. And hopefully in the confusion we can jump out and get ’em bastards.” 

Mace deflated. “What she said.” 

“So where is this monster?” L threw her arms and then gestured to her ears. “I haven’t even heard anything going on.” 

Kian shrugged. “Well he is a monster, and what I got from Pat’s rambles, Dillon almost fainted twice getting his blood into him. Once we’re sure he’s past the point of no return, we’ll get him in.” 

L groaned. “Dillon and Amelia got the catch? Damn, I’ll never hear the end of that.” 

Sarah ruffled her hair before climbing up the ladder with the chain. L scowled and fixed her hair. She understood she’s the newbie here, but after a couple years with catch after catch under her belt, she should have some more respect. At least less teasing. 

Mace grinned at her. “Well at least we won’t be hearing anymore stupid wailing from the sucker. Dennis had runes engraved into the walls to silence anything in there.” 

Kian glanced at his apple watch and then pushed L away. “Pat wants us in the garage, he wants to get this thing moved the moment we can. You can go finish whatever your supposed to be doing, like your homework probably.” 

“Rude to assume I’ve pushed it off.” L flipped her hair as she turned. “I’m not that irresponsible.” 

L grumbled when she went down the stairs, wishing she was at least with Dillon and Amelia when this catch went down, even if the two were getting handsy in the middle of some secluded orchard. Not only did she make a kinda lousy catch, but she was completely out of the loop when everyone seemed to know about this super important thing that happened. Whatever, it’ll be really easy to finish that hunter plan homework thing with this as an example. 

After a quick check to her phone, everything super boring in comparison to what’s happening now, L whipped up the rest of her work. It wasn’t stellar, but how could anyone expect her to focus when after being told that had they perfect trap for any stupid hunter trying to burst in. Oh, how sweet their blood will taste, when the hunter becomes the prey. 

In about an hour, right when L settled into bed, she heard it. A faint shrieking noise, a scream that she tensed up on instinct. It was faint, but the desperation, the crazed bloodlust, was unmistakable and she couldn’t stop the split-second urge to make sure she wasn’t in that thing’s way of a meal. 

L laughed when she calmed down, hearing the shrieks over and over again whispering to her from that cage. She had to be in the security room when that thing was dropped onto the hunters. If that thing can be heard past those runes and made another vampire flinch from it, then a hunter has another thing coming. 

L slipped her beats on and focused her attention back to her phone. For once, she hoped for hunters to come into their home. 


	10. Roommates

“Cas!” Cas sighed, wishing he told Sam to find a hunt some place closer instead. “Cas, can we stop? Call Sam and have him give us some food or something? I’m starving over here man!” 

Cas spared a glance over to the Winchester flying beside him, their wingtips almost touching, but Cas moved away just enough as to not hear Dean’s whining from his thoughts. Unfortunately, Dean has resorted to shouting. How this man could run on such little sleep and such unhealthy habits to fight formidable foes beforehand suddenly seemed like an impossible feat of human will, since adrenaline alone surely can’t sustain such a whiny man for so long. 

The body would have to run out of adrenaline at some point, and Dean does not give his body the proper amount of time to recover, so he must be stronger than this. Hence, Cas was sure Dean was being this frustrating purely to annoy him. 

“Dude, come on!” Dean floated closer and flapped harder to hit his wing. After almost faltering, Cas was stewing too much to be on guard, Cas kept a wary eye on the groaning Winchester. “It’s been hours since we took off and I’m hungry! Can’t we just land for fuck’s sake?” 

Cas took a very measured and controlled deep breath, feeling a rise of blood pressure and heart rate, and tried to relate to Dean. It was a very earnest attempt, Cas put effort behind it, and it yielded very little. Not only did Dean’s wings support high level flying much better than Cas’s, admittedly not the best, like an albatross’s, but his wings were also better at endurance than an owl’s. Not only that, but Dean had a much better night’s sleep than Cas, so Cas failed to gather much empathy for the man. 

Besides, it wasn’t like Cas wasn’t hungry or thirsty, his stomach and throat were begging him to agree with Dean. If Cas kept the connection between him and Dean, Dean surely would have used his hunger against him. Unlike Dean though- Cas took a measured breath as Dean groaned loudly again- Cas had much more discipline. 

“Cas please,” Dean tried to hit Cas’s wing again, and Cas dodged this time. “Just one stop. Please.” 

Cas sighed and reluctantly raised his voice to respond. “Dean, we’re in the air, not taking a different route on the roads. The Impala could be easily be twenty or thirty miles away from us and, most likely, are still ahead of us if Sam’s been keeping a consistent sixty miles per hour.” 

“Fine!” Dean shot back at him, seeming angrier now that Cas spoke. “Can we at least stop then?” 

Slightly worried this break will put them behind schedule, Cas had plenty of time to calculate how long it should take the Impala and how long it should take them to hit their destination, Cas did feel the urge to stop. He figured, at the start of their flight, they should fly next to each other as to get the best workout they can out of this, but now he realized someone should have flown in front and then take turns of being in the lead to converse energy. 

Wordlessly, Cas angled his wings and dipped down. Dean whooped behind him, an eye roll and smile somehow simultaneously appeared on Cas’s face, as the Winchester followed. Thankfully, they seemed to be over some type of forest with no obvious eyes watching them. Cas slowly descended, as a quick dive down would scare Dean about the landing, and finally felt the advantages of his wings when he could hover and lower himself onto the ground. 

It took Dean a minute, but he followed suit. Cas choose an area that would be easy to incredibly large wingspans. Dean sighed when his feet touched the ground and laid flat on his stomach a moment after. 

“Oh ground, how much I’ve missed you.” 

“Don’t be dramatic.” Cas glanced at his phone for service, surprised that he found any. “If you’re still hungry, then you could get up and find a juniper tree with berries.” 

Dean scoffed, barely lifting his chin from the dirt. “What if I mistake them for something poisonous?” 

Cas gave him a hard look. “They look purple, don’t eat anything other than that. I’m going to call Sam, if there’s a cell tower nearby, perhaps you can find the cabins near here and plumage their food.” 

Cas turned away and dialed, and Dean understood that Cas didn’t want to hear a reply. Cas hoped he found something and shared it, if Dean ended up getting up, but his annoyance at Dean helped ward off the emptiness becoming harder and harder to ignore in his stomach. He should have tried to spot a river or a lake coming down, something to drink would be very replenishing. 

“Cas?” Sam’s voice traveled through the speakers, scratchy but audible. “You guys all good?” 

“Yes Sam we’re fine, but do you a mind a stop soon? Dean and I need to rest and eat.” Cas’s mind longingly remembered the granola bars they stuffed in their jackets that they could eat midflight. When he ate his last, what must have been hours ago based on his stomach, he wished he wore his trench coat instead of Dean’s flannels and jackets solely since his trench coat had better pockets. 

“Oh yeah, definitely. We’re getting pretty tired on the road too, Jack’s been-” A harsh static buzzed in Cas’s ear, and Cas frowned at the broken communication. Sounded much too similar to the empty angel radio when he could still connect with it. “-meet up?” 

Cas lowered his phone from his ear, turning back to Dean who decided food wasn’t worth getting up for. “Dean? Do you know where we are?” 

“Google does.” Dean grunted and pulled out his phone, typing away at a few buttons. “Somewhere in Roosevelt National Park or close by. My phone can’t get a good signal.” 

“Thank you,” Cas held the phone back up, cutting off the questioning hello Sam was in the middle of. “We’re in Roosevelt National Park. Do you know a town close by we could rejoin you at?” 

“Yeah, actually, we-” The phone cut out again. “-mie. We’ll get a motel, on the outskirts of town, and plenty of food-” 

Cas sighed as the connection broke up, wondering why technology seemed to hate him so much. “Repeat the city Sam?” 

“Laramie, do you think-” 

The line went dead, but Cas considered it a small miracle he deciphered the town’s name from all the static. He glanced down at Dean, definitely getting dirt all in his feathers the way he tried to stretch them all the way out on the rocky, dirty, and slightly mossy ground. 

“Look up where Laramie is, we’ll stop permanently there.” 

“Oh thank goodness, I feel like my wings are about to fall off.” Dean eagerly tapped at the keyboard of his phone, and Cas felt his own stomach growl softly at the thought of food. 

Dean stood, shaking his wings of dirt. “So it’s directly North of us, and it’s not too far. We’ll probably get there in half an hour.” 

“Good.” Cas checked his phone. It was a bit past five, thanks for their late morning departure, and it should be dark by the time they get there. “I’m looking forward for a drink.” 

Dean grinned and started to lightly flap his wings. “You and me both buddy.” 

Cas stayed on the ground, watching Dean as he took off. It was partly difficult, as Dean kept glancing at the trees that limited his space, but he soon rose above them into the open sky. Where with a few more powerful flaps, he quickly gained altitude. 

Cas smiled, even though there was a wobble and it did take about a minute, but Cas was impressed how quickly he learned. 

Beginning to lift too, a peculiar warmth bloomed in his chest. It confused him for a split second, not that the confusion stopped his smile, before he marked the emotion down as pride. The feeling often associated itself with Jack, and Cas smiled wider as he rose steady up to Dean. Pride was a sin, but he certainly enjoyed it as the intense, very human, warmth spread to even the tips of his primaries. 

“You’ve improved significantly!” Cas leveled out with Dean, their wingtips inches away from each other. “While not faster, you only faltered once, even in a tighter space.” 

Dean tucked his head down, and despite the wind, reached up to scratch at his neck. “Yeah, yeah, could be better.” 

Cas, determined not to let his pride be ruined Dean’s low self-esteem and instead share it, lightly hit his wing. “There’s a lot of physics and air manipulation to flying, and you’ve done great in under a week. Most people would refuse to leave the ground.” 

“Cas, man, it’s no big deal. My wings do it instinctively.” 

Cas huffed, wishing the Winchester wasn’t so stubborn. “And it’s instinctive for humans to walk, yet it still takes mouths until a child takes their first steps.” Cas flapped harder, pushing himself in front of Dean. “Be happy! I’ll even make this easier for you!” 

“Yeah?” Dean called out, louder as Cas pushed further ahead. “And how do you-” 

Cas smirked slightly at Dean’s sudden silence. The amount of effort for him didn’t change, but Dean must have experienced the change in air and the ease on his wings that came with it. In the morning, Dean will take the lead position first, but they will definitely switch as long as this is easier for one of them. Today was the harder workout, but tomorrow should be easier on them. 

Cas knows for certain he will be drinking an extra cup of coffee and will take the effort to carry his water bottle with him in the air tomorrow. 

They kept on flying, high above the sight of any eyes below them. They also weren’t high enough for airplanes, and although Cas started out worried that they could be seen from them, soon let go of it. After all, no one has been looking for them, so it’s unlikely they’ll be found. 

As the sky began to darken, they dipped down lower and built speed for their final stretch. The emptiness in Cas’s stomach and the thirst clawing at his throat, urged him faster. His wings ached from the long flight, but it would be worth `it simply to get to the motel. Fly to the motel and rest. 

When they spotted the town, Cas heard Dean address Sam behind him. Cas slowed and let him take the lead, who was still on the phone in the air, the sky further darkening as Dean lead them over the town. True to his word, they kept flying towards the outskirts of town, where it was relatively easy for them to swoop down unnoticed behind the motel. 

Dean nicked the roof coming down though, and through his tumbling limbs, Cas flapped and dove sharply to grab him. Cas wrapped his arms under Dean’s flapping wings right before he crashed into the ground. Yet then Cas had to drop him, as his arms couldn’t support all of Dean’s weight like that. Dean made a small oof noise, but Cas figure that was better than the alternative. It’s not as if Cas had his super strength anymore. 

“Are you alright Dean?” Cas folded his wings as Dean stood, who didn’t come close to brushing all the dirt off his clothes as he dusted himself. 

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for the save.” Dean’s wings didn’t seem to agree, feathers riled up in the wrong directions, but Dean stalked past him anyway. “So follow me, Sam said they were all in our room with food.” 

Cas stomach growled, and he followed close behind Dean. They only paused to check to see if there was a passerby nearby before dashing over to their room and hurriedly entering. The instant rush of fried chicken, the buttery and greasy scent coating the air, went straight from Cas’s nose to a demanding growl of his stomach. 

“KFC Sammy?” Both him and Dean gravitated to the table, the other three grinning at them from the beds. “You shouldn’t have.” 

“No, no,” Cas bit into a very crisp thigh, the sheer pleasure of eating wringing out a groan. “You should do this again next time as well.” 

Sparing no more time for words, since Sam, Jack, and Mary all laughed, Cas dug into the chicken. Gluttony was also a sin, but not one he was giving any thought to as he felt the food hit his stomach. In the midst of chewing, he scanned around for something to drink. He almost paused when he caught Dean staring at him, teeth hovering centimeters above his untouched chicken, but then Dean looked away and bit down before Cas could question him. 

Once he spotted his water bottle, a full and iced water bottle, he eagerly grabbed it and drained half before finishing his chicken. Perhaps Dean was right, they didn’t need to worry about their diets much. With their wings increasing their metabolism naturally and the exercise that comes along with it, their bodies will be eager for any food. Healthy or not. 

Jack cleared his throat, and Cas paused to look at him. “We also bought biscuits and mash potatoes if you want to eat something else.” 

Cas immediately glanced over to the other boxes which he had ignored in favor of chasing the delicious fried chicken smell. He gave Jack a nod, to acknowledge he heard it, but kept eating his chicken thigh. Once he finished and grabbed a leg to continue eating, he and Dean wordlessly divided the extra food. They spilt the biscuits and potato wedges, while Cas received all of the coleslaw and Dean took the cookies. 

When he took his first bite of the biscuit, another thigh in his stomach at this point, he frowned at the blandness compared to the chicken. Dean, after rolling his eyes, gestured to the honey and butter packets. Instantly grabbing the honey packets, Cas ripped open two and soaked his biscuit in it. The sweetness of it, in stark contrast to the greasy fried chicken, tore another quiet groan from his chest as he took his second bite. Goodness, he forgot about the sheer pleasure eating brings to a hungry stomach. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean pause for a second before almost angrily tearing into his potato wedges. He shrugged it off and drank more of his water. Then decided against his second biscuit in favor of the coleslaw and tuned into the others’ conversation as he ate at a slower rate. 

“That might be too far, I mean,” Mary quieted for a second while Cas thought that the coleslaw seemed bland in comparison to the other foods, but still good in its own right. “We should try somewhere closer.” 

Jack immediately counter argued. “If we do it your way though, that might be another day of travel. Since Dean and Cas couldn’t eat lunch in the air, that’s why they’re so hungry, I’m sure they would appreciate getting there as fast as possible.” 

Cas meant Sam’s eye and nodded as he ate the coleslaw, since he and Dean would be flying in a new formation to converse energy, they could make longer flights each day. This time around, they would take the extra weight of food and water too. 

“We should stick with Twin Falls. We’ll bed down there tomorrow night and end up in Yakima the next day. And if they do need to eat, we’ll get them lunch and call them on some empty road.” 

Cas saw Dean’s shoulders slump as Sam talked. That would’ve been a great idea for today. They probably could have made if farther if they did stop like that. Tomorrow, tomorrow will definitely be handled properly. 

“You hear that guys?” Dean raised his hand in a thumbs up at Sam question and Cas nodded. “Try to call us and we’ll find a way to get you lunch.” 

“So Mary?” Jack straightened up, “Could you give me another lesson in flipping a knife?” 

Cas smiled, another, less intense, bout of pride humming through him. He turned away and started to reach for the potato wedges now that he was done with the coleslaw, but since Dean had the little box in such a tight grip, Cas went for another biscuit instead. Humans have perfected cooking with the root, his smile faded, and Castiel doesn’t need to have any if Dean liked them so much. 

“Actually guys,” Dean half turned his head to them, keeping his chin pointed down and back to them. “Could you do that in your room?” 

“Why-” 

Sam stood, cutting Jack off. “No, yeah, okay Dean. There’s some beers in the fridge by the way.” 

Dean and Sam locked eyes, after Mary and Jack walked out with a quick wave and a goodnight, as Cas watched the silent conversation between the brothers. Sam cocked one eyebrow, and Dean quickly nodded though his wings tightened on his back. Sam sighed at gestured to the wall behind him, face falling. 

“We’ll be right next door if you need anything. Just pound on the wall a couple of times.” 

Dean scoffed, the box of the potato wedges creaked quietly, and Dean eased the pressure. “We’ll be fine Sam, good night.” 

“Night Dean, night Cas.” Sam held Dean’s gaze as he turned the handle. 

Dean narrowed his eyes, but Cas ended the silent conversation. “Good night Sam. I hope you all sleep well.” 

Sam nodded to him once, his eyes darting back to Dean, and left, the door softly clinking as it shut. 

Cas ate his second biscuit in the silence, since unlike Sam, he figured it was best for Dean to ask him of something rather than even attempt to pry it out of him. He supposed, unlike Sam, Dean wouldn’t stay around him if he asked too many questions. 

The second biscuit, with the same amount of honey as the last one, sated him. Though, as the warm scent of fried chicken swirled in the air, Cas found himself reaching for another leg. Savoring the skin first, before biting down into the meat underneath. The skin, he has never wished for an animal to have more skin than he does now. 

“Cas?” 

Lowering the leg, Cas tilted his head up at Dean. “Yes Dean?” 

“I would-” Dean tossed the empty potato wedge box at the garage can. “Do you mind grooming my wings? I didn’t realize how dirty I got them, and I think there’s even a twig in there or something, so if you-” 

“Relax Dean, of course I will.” Cas walked towards the bathroom, hurriedly finishing the rest of the chicken leg. “Let me wash my hands first.” 

The bathroom, small and dreary, almost didn’t fit his wings. His feathers pressed against the tiles of questionable cleanliness, yet Cas patiently applied extra soap and thoroughly dried his hands before exiting. Dean said he wouldn’t earlier today, he said he would let his soul recover instead of making flying easier, but perhaps he attempted earlier, judging how hesitantly he asked, but has too little energy or his wings are too dirty for them to be cleaned by his powers subconsciously. 

Dean, instead of being on the bed, had his head tipped back as his Adam's apple bobbed, a beer glass tight in his grip. A few feathers stuck out in weird angels, and Cas narrowed his eyes at the fore mentioned twig sticking out in the middle of Dean’s coverts. Dean’s feathers, a deep bronze at the scapulars and top of his wings, before his primaries and secondaries ended with a rich gold, all filled with dirt ruining the beauty of his wings. 

“Dean,” Cas grumbled and looked away from the dirt that scandalized Dean’s wings, bitter that his hunger distracted him from noticing they were in such a state earlier. “You have to sit on the bed.” 

Dean sighed and threw the empty glass in the garage, immediately opening up another. “One more beer, and I’ll be there.” 

Sighing and frustrated at having to look at Dean’s tarnished wings, he grabbed his water bottle and drank whatever was left of it. His stomach swelled, and Cas eagerly drank the rest and chased that stuffed feeling. It was uncomfortable, the way his stomach had to stretch against his skin and muscles to make room, but it left him feeling so full he couldn’t help but want it. 

He thought about how the religious fasted and gave up food in the form of worship. The angels never cared about that, although a few took pride in it or thought the ‘hairless apes’ should respect them through suffering, but Cas now saw how dumb it was. Heaven never particularly cared if someone skipped food, as long as that person was still good, and Cas mourned that he never experienced this during his earlier time as a human. 

Yet this was sinful, this overeating was sinful though. Undisciplined. So terribly undisciplined. Cas blinked and lowered the water bottle from his lips, practically gone now, and set it on the table. Cas closed his eyes and took a big deep, ashamed that after all this time he still hasn’t gotten a grasp on the ephemeral bouts of emotion, he must keep discipline. Control. 

“Okay, okay, let’s get this over with.” Dean brushed past him, startling him, and jumped onto the bed. Head lowered and legs crossed, slowly stretching his wings out. 

Dean couldn’t quite fully extend both of his wings, not when the queen beds couldn’t be centered, so Cas got to work on the left on first. That’s where that offensive twig was, and Cas plucked it out the feathers and tossed it behind him. The disgrace finally gone. 

From simply dragging his fingers down, dirt dislodged and sprinkled down to the carpet and the other bed. The feathers, puffed up, bent at awkward angles. Cas gently positioned them back to their proper spots, his fingers lingering as if he could soothe the riled feathers by touch alone. Cas wanted to say that Dean shouldn’t embarrassed, Cas had to ask of the same thing and will again soon, but a confrontation of Dean’s emotions rarely turned out well. 

Even if Cas couldn’t ease the tension from Dean, the unflappable Winchester kept his shoulders tense and head down as he attacked at the dirt. He wormed his fingers to dig at the roots of every calamus, getting at the deepest dirt. He ignored the twitches from Dean, the sharp intakes of breath, and simply tried to work as fast as possible. 

He focused all of his mind on it, Cas refused to sacrifice quality for the sake of time. Every single piece of dirt, and even a few deplorable leaves, had to be removed. His fingers, far less superior than his true angelic body, weaved through Dean’s feathers adroitly and cleaned his left wing with upmost precision. 

“Okay,” Cas pulled his hands back, the silence straining in the spaces of his words and Dean’s tense breaths. “Move to the other bed.” 

Dean didn’t turn around as he moved, standing then shifting quickly on the bed before extending his right. Cas, as with the left, started at the base of the wing at the scapulars. He pushed his hand in, going again for at a root of a calamus, and faltered for a mere second when his fingers squished softly into the feathers below Dean’s oil gland. 

Dean flinched, and Cas moved away from the area. He gave the gland a bit of a berth as he continued to work. Although, he felt experienced enough with Dean’s wings to let his mind wander, and he questioned if Dean wanted him to groom him with his oil. After being embarrassed by this, Cas severely doubted Dean asking him. Yet, that would be rude not to. Once the dirt has all been extracted, it won’t take long for the feathers to become itchy without being properly oiled. 

Determined to finish extracting the dirt though, Cas ignored the question. He would ask Dean afterwards, and if Dean said no, then at least his wings were clean. However, if they interfered with his flying tomorrow, Dean won’t get a choice whether or not he wants Cas oil his wings. 

Cas plucked a leaf, acknowledging the clench of his stomach. He must have eaten too much, or maybe the food soaked up all the water and now weighs in him more. It was unpleasant by any means, he wished he could make the sensation go away as much as he wished Dean would let him oil his feathers. 

Shoving the thoughts out of his mind, Cas returned all attention back to cleaning Dean’s wings. He sped up, concentrating as his fingers flickered and wormed into the feathers to get all the dirt. His stomach problem fell away and Cas put more effort into Dean’s wings whenever he became aware of it again, attempting to make up for the lost time he spent by dividing his attention. 

“Dean,” Cas dragged his fingers through his primaries, almost done. “Do you want me oil your wings as well?” 

“No!” Dean coughed and Cas glanced over at the twitching man, who stubbornly wouldn’t look anywhere towards him. “No, uh, that’s fine Cas. My wings feel fine, it was enough just to get all the dirt out. I’m good, all good.” 

Cas squinted him, hoping he wasn’t truly embarrassed by such a thing. Cas will oil Dean’s wings one day, it was inevitable, and Dean needs to accept that sooner than later. Today, might not be an issue if it doesn’t happen, but it wouldn’t take long for it to become one. 

“You’re producing oil, and your feathers are quite dull, perhaps you shouldn’t so hasty to say no.” His hand twitched up, reaching for Dean’s shoulder, but Cas pulled it away before he could touch the tense Winchester. 

“How fast can you do it?” The words came out taunt, even as Cas watched the feathers underneath the oil gland darken. 

“Give me five minutes on each wing.” Cas frowned, not nearly enough time to give Dean’s wings the attention they deserved, but he accepted that even a total of ten minutes might be too much for Dean. 

“Okay, okay.” Dean drew in a shaky breath, and a streak of guilt ran through Cas for pushing the matter despite it being the most helpful course of action. “Just, be fast.” 

Cas reached for the oil gland. “As you wish.” 

Dean jerked upright and oil slid onto Cas’s fingers. His left wing fluttered violently as Cas rubbed the gland for more, the limb’s contained thrashing looking similar to the out-of-control bouncing leg most humans experience when they’re nervous. 

Taking one deep breath, Cas set to work. He wasn’t neat, not in the slightest, but he carted and spread his fingers through Dean’s feathers as fast as possible. Wiping the oil off on top in hopes it will drip down on its own and constantly having to reach back for the gland often. Dean’s arms clamping inward every time with a quiet gasp. 

Managing to finish the right wing in under five minutes, Cas certainly wasn't proud of it, but Dean moved to the other bed swiftly when Cas simply touched his left. The oil gland there had started to produce much more oil, and Cas didn’t even have to touch it the first time he started to drag his fingers through. 

Cas worked efficiently despite the haste, only smudges of oil left on his fingers when he had to reach for more. One day, he could do this properly, but for now, he had to do the best job he could with such little time. 

Finishing in what he assumed to be close to seven minutes, Dean waited a second of his fingers withdrawn before jumping off the bed. Muscles still tight and wings drawn in completely to press against his back. 

“Thanks Cas, feels great.” Dean went to the mini fridge, reaching for then opening another beer. “There’s a gym bag over there, bunch of clothes, you can change. Or just sleep in that. Doesn’t matter.” 

Cas didn’t reply, yet judging from how Dean immediately started to chug his drink once the last syllable fell from his lips, Dean didn’t particularly care for a response. Cas sighed, as he really hoped such an action wouldn’t be so jarring for Dean. He wanted Dean to be comfortable, not reaching for a beer immediately. 

His shoulders dropped as his wiggled his arms and wings out of the jacket, then the flannel, and then the shirt he was wearing. With his wings there to keep him warm along with the comforter, Cas grabbed a worn Metallica shirt and pulled it on. The silts swished along his lower back, more of a frustrating sensation rather than a ticklish one. They should sow in buttons or Velcro into the bottom to make it more comfortable. 

Since the bag only had another pair of jeans, which felt rougher than the slacks he wore beforehand, Cas decided to sleep in his, well Dean’s, boxers instead. He set the jeans, along with the other clothes, next to the bag as to not spread the dirt to the cleans ones. Once he fished out his toothbrush and some toothpaste, Cas headed to the bathroom after sparing one more glance at Dean. 

Dean had another bottle to his lips, no doubt his second one, and Cas’s wings drooped with his shoulders as he entered the bathroom. The tiles felt even dirtier and greasier than before, and Cas figured since human teeth don’t develop cavities in a week, Cas barely spent a minute brushing his teeth. He used the toilet and even in the short time he was in the bathroom, Cas exited right as the next bottle’s cap popped off. 

Cas took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, hoping to center himself. Yet a heaviness fogged in him, and despite feeling so awake mere moments ago, a fatigue slumped over him. He didn’t feel exhausted, like he must sleep right this moment, but each movement gobbled up much more energy than it should require. 

His wings dragged over the carpet as he shuffled towards the closest bed, and after a quick swipe at the dirt on it, crawled into it. The mattress was hard, the pillows flat, and Cas had to lay on his stuffed stomach because it was more comfortable for his wings that way. 

Yet none of that registered. If he had the energy, he would have examined the emotion more closely, but he didn’t even have the energy to even feel anything. He was aware it was there, and Cas simply knew something was wrong, something that must be important, but it all sat in him like a muddy paste. Aware of its presence, disliking it, but too dull for him to really take much note of it. 

Cas blinked drowsily, yet he didn’t fall asleep. He heard Dean open a fifth, then a sixth beer. Sighing, a heavy thought wondering why he had enough energy to be awake but barely even think, when Dean eventually turned off the lights. The sheets rustled as Dean settled in, only to continue to rustle when Dean couldn’t get comfortable. 

Rustling, Cas listened to the rustling for a few minutes before he finally dropped off. 

Cas jolted, sucking in air and blinked rapidly. He laid there, not feeling energized in the slightest, as he panted silently on the pillow. His initial reaction wrote off the sudden wake up to a nightmare, until he remembered he had a sleeping disorder. After this hunt, he and Dean would be practicing on how to heal something so delicate. This lack of energy was starting to perturb him. 

He glanced over to Dean’s bed, the sheets ruffled and a feather on rumpled comforter. He switched from breathing from his mouth to nose as he calmed down, scenting the coffee in the room. Caffeine, he suspected his mind would need a lot in order to numb out the tiredness still clinging to his body. 

Although, it was strange for Dean to be awake so early. Only gray light drifted in, not bright either, and Cas approximated that it was somewhere around seven. Early enough that Cas fell into his indulgence and snuggled into the bed. From what he can recall about the Winchester’s habits, unless they had something scheduled in the morning, Sam would be awake but with Dean usually asleep, they don’t leave their room until midmorning. 

A vastly irritating ringing cut through the silence, startling the peace right out of him. He grumbled and lifted his head, the sleep he was so close to wavering out of his grasp as Dean picked up the phone. Another beer bottle in one hand while the other pressed the phone to his face. 

“Whatcha want Sammy?” 

Dean rolled his eyes as he took a drink, and Cas pressed his head back against the pillow. He sighed, tired enough to hope Sam wouldn’t ask if they were ready to go but sleep still evaded him. 

“Sure, whatever, McDonald’s is fine. Give me whatever’s the biggest, and also has bacon.” 

Cas groaned into the pillow; he knew about McDonald’s. Nora sometimes would bring some to him at the gas station, and it didn’t compare much to the food he ate from the gas station. The first time he had it, when he was extremely hungry, it tasted amazing. Not quite peanut and jelly levels of spectacular, but he couldn’t eat it fast enough. By the time he left the gas station the drab and greasy foods repulsed him. 

“Cas? Oh well, get him something big too. Maybe two things? The man ate an entire pizza himself once.” A pause, a sigh, and the empty glass bottle clattered into the garbage. “So what? It’s five o’clock somewhere.” 

For a fleeting moment, Cas wondered what Dean’s wings looked like, but his head, usually so light, pressed against the pillow with the weight of a stack of bricks. 

“Oh, come on. I’ve had a drink before a hunt and was fine. How hard can flying be?” Cas frowned into the pillow, that wasn’t reassuring. 

“Whatever, and no, I’m not hungover. Not in the slightest. Shame on you for assuming that.” Dean snorted. “See you in few Sammy.” 

The phone beeped, and Cas frowned again. Dean wasn’t hungover? Before Cas fell asleep, Dean had at least six beers within the span of approximately an hour. Perhaps he got up to get more at some point in the night, Cas remembered hearing him shift before he fell asleep. 

Cas groaned, louder, when he realized he couldn’t fall back asleep. He had no urge to move, not one in the slightest. Yet, every time he shut his eyes, they popped back open. The only part of his body ready to start the day, or at least the only part that refused to let him sleep more. 

“Cas,” Dean grunted, almost prickly. “You up?” 

“Unfortunately.” Cas sighed, shifting his arms to push him up. If Dean seemed bitter this morning and still got himself out of bed, Cas could do it too. Maybe. 

“There’s coffee if you want it. Sam’s coming with breakfast soon.” 

Cas hummed, and taking a deep breath, pushed himself up. Another groan wheezed itself out of his chest and his eyes stung at the light. Rubbing the muscles of his face, as if he could spread the energy of his eyelids to the rest of him, Cas stood. The wings on his back fluttered, as if wishing they had the room and energy to stretch, but Cas just let them scrape over the ground. 

Dean, already dressed, handed him a coffee mug, a very nice and warm coffee mug. “Rough night?” 

“Hmm, yes.” Cas breathed in the scent, it was strong and promised energy. “Thank you for this.” 

“It’s just coffee.” 

“It’ll make me numb to feeling tired.” Cas smiled, usually opposed to mind altering chemicals, but if he only had it the morning, his liver should have all the caffeine worked out before he needs to sleep. As long as it doesn’t interfere with his sleep, coffee cannot be a bad thing. 

Taking a deep breath, Cas lifted the mug and drained it. It burnt the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t care. The heat jolted part of his body awake as it fired up the nerves in his esophagus before splashing into his empty stomach. It tasted horrible, very bitter, but somehow perfect too. 

“Geez, that rough of a night?” 

Cas shrugged and set the mug down. “I suppose, although you seemed restless last night. Was it your wings? Do I need to redo a section?” 

Dean’s wings tensed and jerked slightly, as Dean grabbed Cas’s mug to turn around and refill it. “No, my wings feel great. You did, you did a good job. I guess I just wasn’t tired.” 

Cas gratefully took the full mug again and didn’t question Dean about his wings. He turned one of the table’s chairs around and sat, leaning forward on the back before taking a small sip. Yet curiosity, more questions drifting in and out of his mind, which seemed to have adjusted to being awake, poked at him. 

“So you’re not hungover?” Cas mused over the rim of his mug, hearing Dean’s feathers rustle. “I suspect that might be from an increased metabolism.” 

“Oh, uh, really?” Dean hissed something, and Cas glanced up, but he had a perfectly calm expression on his face. “From what? Wings or buffed up soul?” 

“Both I presume. Your body will be the first to absorb excess energy, unless you consciously direct it, which eliminates most problems. Poisons, including alcohol, would be dealt with ruthlessly with such power. It’s why it took me so much to get drunk as an angel, my grace was trying to fend it off.” 

Dean snorted and swung a chair to sit on it backwards too. “I thought we went over that I have a soul, not grace.” 

“Well of course.” Cas took another drink, feeling this would be an appropriate time to roll his eyes. “The effects will be different. Grace naturally empowered the angel’s vessel so it could meet the angel’s needs or stop any inconveniences. My prediction is that there must be some sort of prompt from your body before it uses the extra energy, since a soul’s nature is not to be burned away for the body.” 

Dean sighed, though his wings remained close to his back and a bit tense. “So you’re telling me I can still get hungry and thirsty and stuff, but when I drink, that’s cause for my body to get it out via soul? Freaking great.” 

Cas focused on his drink, taking a long drink. He could tell Dean how to stop that, control his soul from automatically being distributed to his body. Yet, from all the times he had to heal Dean’s liver along with his other injuries, Dean would benefit from being forced away from the bottle. 

“Tell me.” 

“What?” Cas snapped his head up, squinting at Dean. “Tell you what?” 

Dean gestured behind him to his wings, which have left their limp position on the floor and shifted behind him. “Whatever it is that made those things have some life in them.” 

Cas sighed, tracing the rim of the mug. “It’s possible to control, and limit, how your soul helps your body. Some things are easier than others, or perhaps not since I’m familiar only with grace, but it can be done.” 

“Well,” Dean folded his arms on the back of the chair. “Are you gonna tell me how?” 

“No, not until after the hunt.” Cas, during Dean’s groan, finished the rest of his coffee. He thought it to be working, he didn’t feel much longing to go back to sleep anymore. 

“Come on Cas! Just-” 

“No,” Cas met Dean’s glare with a hard stare. “You have more important things to worry about rather than if you can get yourself drunk.” 

“You did it.” 

“The world was ending, for the first time, and, for the first time, I was without Heaven. I also decided to do that once, I don’t understand how you like being so. . . strange.” 

Dean tilted his head back, as if talking to the ceiling instead of him. “Angel of the Lord, and he can’t handle a little drink.” 

Cas frowned, “It wasn’t pleasant, and I could remember everything afterwards. I was bitter and on the verge of giving up. If Sam didn’t pray to me about your current case, I probably would’ve-” 

He looked back to the mug’s rim and saw instead a dark road only visible from the lights in the liquor store. The owner, most likely dead or possessed, nowhere to stop him from drinking bottle after bottle of whiskeys and vodkas. He tried to keep his grace away from protecting him, although that got progressively harder the more he drank. 

It was horrible, he couldn’t remember emotions ever being so violent and overwhelming before. At first, he was enraged, boiling over with fury, and cursed Heaven for being just as evil as Hell. He spewed insults in Enochian, the sacred tongue, and threw all the blame at them. Heaven claimed purity when it planned to burn half the world. How vile. How despicable. 

Then, in the span of half a second, he sagged. Who was he, a lonely angel tampering off and slowly dying of grace, to insult all the might of Heaven? He failed; a truth so strong that he sank to his knees. Everything he had wasting away. What did he even have? His brothers and sisters mocked him, their beliefs about him proved correct when he fell, and the world teetered on the brink of dying. 

The only thing stopping its death was two brothers, an old drunk, and a fallen angel. Pitiful. They had no real plan, always on the defensive and hoping for an opportunity. 

How desperate he was to end it all. The small slivers of hope he had left crushed ruthlessly by probability. They didn’t have a chance. God didn’t even care, so why should he? 

He had his blade out when he heard Sam’s call. 

Then the alcohol eventually wore off, when he realized how close he was taking his own life, he became desperate for a win. Any means necessary, as long as something kept happening. It didn’t matter what happened to him, what happened to anyone, if he kept pushing forward to the next win. 

He snorted, shaking the thoughts out and looking back up to Dean. Dean, who had his eyes narrowed at him and lips pressed together, gazing at Cas as if he was some riddle that he couldn’t figure out the answer to. The pose, while uncomfortable, seemed predicable from how long Cas sat stewing. 

Yet Dean’s wings arranged themselves in a much more confusing manner. Tense, but curled above his head towards Cas. The feathers rustled, but he couldn’t hear it, only see the small shifts of Dean’s inside feathers. 

Cas instantly ignored the wings though when a faint glow rimmed Dean’s eyes. The glow, more of a shimmer, flickered. It flickered yet it glowed stronger, and Cas felt a slight tug towards Dean. 

He sucked in a breath, narrowing his eyes at Dean- 

“Hey guys!” Sam slipped into the apartment, with McDonald’s bags tight in his hands. “Eat up! Jack and Mom want to hit the road- they say good morning by the way- as fast as possible since we still have driving tomorrow.” 

Cas oofed, his wings snapping to his back so fast it pushed him into the chair. Dean didn’t fare much better either. He snapped upright instantly, his wings fluffing out before locking into a neutral position. Which would have been fine if he didn’t knock over Cas’s coffee mug in the process. 

Sam stared at them as the mug rolled then softly clinked as the handle hit the table. Cas held his wings respectfully, controlling himself after his first reaction, and tilted his head at Sam. Who, unfortunately, turned his attention on Dean, wings that shifted slightly before stilling under Sam’s stare. 

“Did something happen?” 

“No.” Dean and Cas didn’t look at each other, they could lie better than that, but speaking at the same time didn’t make them seem innocent. 

“I was filling Cas in on the hunt.” Dean gestured casually. “You just startled us, you know how hard it is to control the reaction our wings have. Now, come on, I’m hungry.” 

Sam grunted and placed the bags on the table, which neither of them hesitated to open up. Dean almost ripped the bag and dug into the breakfast sandwich. Cas stilled and smiled- and it was Dean who told Sam he was the one who needed a lot of food. 

“Geez Dean, it’s not going anywhere. You could take your time.” Sam rolled his eyes, and Cas caught him peeking at the garbage. 

Dean grunted something in reply, but Cas focused on his burger than the Winchesters. He figured Sam would say something soon about the beer bottles, and if he chewed fast enough then he might get halfway through this sausage mcgriddle before it came to that. 

“Dean,” Cas’s wings drooped, he only got a quarter in. “How many did you drink last night?” 

Dean grunted, and Cas tried to keep eating. “Screw off Sam.” 

“I thought you said you weren’t hungover.” 

“I’m not!” Dean glared, though his wings shifted and not in anger. “Increased metabolism.” 

Sam scoffed and shook his head. “That thing was empty when we got here and-” Sam opened the small fridge- “So you’ve wiped out both packs of beer we brought.” 

Cas hummed into his mcgriddle, calculating it out as to ignore the rising voices of the brothers. Assuming Dean had only had one this morning, Dean had the other eleven at night. Cas could question why he had more after he got in bed, but that’s for another time. If Dean’s soul wasn’t a factor, roughly twelve-point nine percent of his blood would be alcohol, taking his wings into account. 

Which would be over half than what this country classifies as drunk. However, if Dean doesn’t feel any effects from that, then his soul must have wiped out most, if not all, of it. He might overwhelm his soul, as Cas once did with his grace, if he drank hard liquor just as fast if not faster in the same volume. 

“Cas!” He blinked up at Sam, who fumed at his older brother. “Is Dean lying?” 

Cas swallowed, so close to finishing his breakfast sandwich, and sprouted out what he did know. “Dean did have a lot to drink last night, although I was asleep after the sixth, but he can’t be drunk. Once his body is poisoned, any excess energy from his soul will clear it out.” 

Cas popped the last of the mcgriddle into his mouth and reached into the bag to see if there was another. There was, and it soon will be gone inside his stomach. Sam picked a different type of mcgriddle, but all the greasy food tasted roughly the same. 

Sam started to snicker, and as Cas looked up, saw that the younger Winchester was smiling full blown at Dean and barely suppressing his laughter. Dean, on the other hand, looked ready to punch him. 

“You can’t get drunk.” Sam raised his voice, failing to stifle his laughter. “The great Dean Winchester, who has been in practically every bar in these United States, can’t even get drunk. Oh no, he might have to resort to water from now on! Oh the horror!" 

“You can just screw off now, go and eat your rabbit food.” 

Sam merely continued to make fun of Dean, Dean shot right back at Sam, and Cas finished the rest of his sandwich then one of the hash brown patties. He flicked his wings, stretching what he could, and braced himself for the coming flight. While he felt much better than when he first woke up, the long hours in the air didn’t appeal to him much. 

When he stood, Sam thankfully interpreted that as a signal for them to start preparing to leave. He threw a quick jab at Dean, who scowled back, before leaving. Dean hurriedly finished his food, as Cas picked up then went into the bathroom. 

Once he finished in the bathroom, Cas bent over the gym bag to pull out more clothes. He decided to stay in his shirt, opposed to get another shirt dirty, and grabbed the same pair of jeans he wore yesterday. 

A bang hit his ears and Cas startled up, narrowing in on the source. The shut bathroom door met his stare and with a sigh, Cas started to put on his clothes. Hopefully he didn’t take up the bathroom too long when Dean clearly needed to use it. 

He pushed his feet into some shoes and questioned how he could carry his water bottle and some food. While Sam offered, he would prefer it if they didn’t have to stop. With having to call, midair without dropping the phone, and then meeting up, which the distances could be far greater than anticipated, it seemed too much of a hassle. 

Hooking his water bottle into one of his jeans’ straps, the weight of it unappreciated, and sent Sam a text, that if they arrived in Twin Falls before them, if he could buy small, single strapped backpacks along with some extra clips in case they need to modify it. So tomorrow, this problem would be solved, but today he’ll have to put up with the inconvenience. 

Sam sent an emoji of a thumbs up back then a message that it was safe to fly out behind the building, so Cas tucked his phone away. Moments later, as he stuffed some granola into his pockets, someone knocked on the door. 

He opened it and smiled. “Jack, good morning, is there something you need?” 

“Good morning Cas, and I’m on retrieval duty. I supposed to grab your clothes bag and any leftover food.” 

Cas stepped out of his way, gesturing to the room. “By all means, retrieve away.” 

Jack smiled at him and went to grab the gym bag first. Cas grabbed the couple boxes of granola bars, and handled them to Jack after taking more out for Dean. He nodded his thanks and made to the door, stopping and tilting his head at Cas. 

“See you in Twin Falls.” 

Cas lifted his hand in a wave. “Until then.” 

The door softly shut behind, and as Cas waited for Dean to finish in the bathroom, he listened to the Impala roll out soon afterwards. He frowned, realizing they would have to carry their toothbrushes on them, and Cas was the grateful for the plastic heads they could snap the brush part of the toothbrush in. He wouldn’t want that rubbing in his coat. 

Cas stood as the door opened, Dean rubbing his face as he walked out, and Cas hoped he was ready to go. With the coffee fully in his system now, his wings itches to stretch out. He wanted to feel the air again, seemingly limitless amount of space from his wings. He wanted to fly. 

“Are you ready? There’re some granola bars for you, but leave them if you’ve already grabbed some, and then we can leave.” Cas swallowed, hearing his impatience, and focused on rustling his feathers so he can continue to wait if need be. 

“Yeah, sure.” Dean grabbed the bars and stuffed them into his pockets. “Let’s go.” 

Cas smiled and followed him out the door, almost running behind the building. He past Dean and began running alongside the walls, building into a sprint now, as he bent forward and fluttered his wings. His feet hit the ground lighter and lighter until he jumped up, flapping hard. 

He wobbled a bit, slightly too overeager, but quickly ascended. The wind streaked past his face, his teeth freezing and eyes quickly tearing up to stay moist, but that didn’t stop his smile. His wings beat at the air, pushing him up. The low clouds growing bigger and expanding into fully formed three-dimensional shapes. 

Grazing the clouds with his wingtips, he flew around for fun for a minute as he and Dean stretched their wings out a bit more until they pushed up a bit higher. Where the wind was strong enough to push them faster without as much effort. Dean, after a second of figuring out what Cas’s nod forward was, took the lead. 

Cas smiled, how good it was to fly. 


	11. Let the Hunt Begin

Cas watched as Dean almost fumbled his phone and then quickly secure it into a pocket. Once Dean got his bearings back, Cas flew up beside him, letting their wingtips graze against each other. Dean made the connection instantly, an almost thoughtless action for him to do now. 

_Sam just checked us into a Holiday Inn. He said there weren’t any of motels on the outskirts of town, and we should have no problem landing on the roof since it seems flat. Our room will have an opened window, though it still has to be dark until we can enter._ Frustration echoed towards him, with a slight under current of worry, around the thought. It would be another half hour until it would dark enough for that. 

_What are we eating?_

Dean’s thoughts snorted at him, concern shimmering down. _Pizza tonight, think that can appease the abyss in your stomach?_

 _If I have enough._ Cas narrowed his eyes at him briefly before looking forward again. _I will resort to theft if I have to._

_Low blow, what if I’m hungry?_

_Then use your soul._

Dean jerked his wing out a bit, crumpling Cas’s primary feathers a bit. _I thought I was supposed to save my soul to let it regenerate._

_This would qualify as an emergency._

_No kidding. Jack looked horrified last night at the Chinese food you inhaled. Good thing Sam gave us a bigger breakfast today._ Mirth twinkled in Dean’s thoughts, lightly dancing at the tips of Cas's feathers; Cas barely even felt the smile growing. 

_The first hour of flight was much more difficult though, thank you flying ahead again._

Dean chuckled, _Poor little owl wings couldn’t keep up._

Cas huffed, regretting using that reason, no matter how truthfully, to convince Dean to fly in front the first time again. Cas didn’t think of it as a big deal, it was a fact that Cas’s wings bore great resemblance to the barred owl and Dean’s to the steller’s sea eagle. Yet of course, the facts proved to be ammunition for Dean’s quips. 

_I surpass you silent flying and maneuverability._ Cas flapped to maintain altitude, proving his silence. _I also complain less about these long flights._

_Yeah, aren’t you just an angel._

Cas shook his head, a small smile tugging his lips, and whacked Dean’s wing. _More so than you'll ever be._

Dean’s thoughts feigned a gasp. _Wow, man, I don't think I can ever live with myself now. This insult to my grave will be taken to my grave, I don't think I can handle such brutality from you Cas._

 _Dean, don't be ridiculous._ Cas sighed even as his lips twitched up, watching the sun start to touch the horizon. _Your graves never last long._

_Everything dies at some point._ Dean’s thoughts pondered, floating casually. _Although with the wings, I’m going to need a lot more wood._

Cas turned to grin at him. _Who knows? By the time either of us dies perhaps there’ll be an invention to instantly vaporize tissues that the public has access to._

Cas’s smile dropped when Dean frowned at him. Dean’s mind stilled, the mirth fading, and darkened. 

_How long do you think I’m going to live? A hunter’s life is never long._

Cas frowned. _You aren’t aging anymore. You aren’t invincible, but if you were hard to kill before, it’s nigh impossible now. I imagine your expected lifespan has drastically increased._

 _I- I'm not aging?_ Panic, prickly and confused, covered Dean’s thoughts and itched Cas's coverts. _Aren’t my cells still dividing and crap?_

_During anaphase of mitosis, in order to prevent DNA from being damaged, telomeres absorb any of the damage. The elderly has more medical problems since their telomeres have been exasperated and chromosomes are no longer dividing safely. Thus-_

_English please, Cas._

_When you become old, the main thing that changes are cells’ DNA no longer has protection. That’s why a fifty-year-old can look eighty and vice versa, it has to do with cell health rather than an age number. Now, when your cells divide and even if only one base pair is damaged or mutated, it will count as an injury and be healed. Thus stopping old age._

Dean stopped projecting his thoughts to him, but Cas felt them zip around in his mind and saw quick flashes of Sam’s gravestone, a date that makes Sam either eighty-one or eighty-two, followed by Jody’s, another of old age. Mary’s gravestone, the one that currently exists, etched with a new date. 

_Jack will still be alive, and so will I._ Cas reached out, cautiously for fear Dean will suspect him of prying, and replaced the memories. The four of them, even with Sam significantly older, toasting to Mary and then Jody. Then, at Sam’s grave, Cas and Jack on the other side of Dean, all their heads bowed in deference. 

_You will not be alone._

Dean pulled his wing back, severing the connection right as another emotion flooded over Dean. Cas couldn’t tell what it was, and Dean had his face locked into a neutral position, but it didn’t have the burn of anger, even if it was warm. It didn’t have self-ridicule or shame, though it might have been bashful if Cas had longer to inspect it. It wasn’t a harmful emotion, and Cas was satisfied with only that knowledge. 

Cas briefly wondered, if in fact, he has stopped aging too. He needed to eat and sleep, and undoubtedly his cells have been dividing. Perhaps he would age, although he hoped for it to be at a slower rate for Dean’s sake, or maybe his body still had enough of an angelic presence for such things not to matter. 

They flew in silence towards their destination, and neither of them pulled forward to take the lead. Their primaries brushed together every once and while, but they didn’t connect. The simple skim of their soft silken feathers still gave Cas a sense of connection, and he contently watched Dean's feathers shine in different hues as the sun continued to set. Beautiful and dazzling, Cas barely spent any glances to make sure they were on the right direction. 

He could hardly be blamed for looking though. The darker bronze framed the deep gold and shiny cooper-like feathers, most of which glinted orange and red. Cas watched every time when Dean flapped his wings, entranced with the play on light and found himself straining his primaries to graze Dean’s wing. 

Cas knew he took the glorious wings for granted, letting them fall out of sight expect when trying to decipher an emotion of Dean’s, yet they were nothing short of breathtaking. Still as magnificent when Cas first saw them. It was strange how human poets claimed beauty is most evident during times of great stress, when in reality it dulls out as the mind battles. It’s in moments of lucidity, seconds where the battle stills and stress dissipates, when simple, or breathtaking, beauties reveal themselves. 

Soon though, the sun dipped below the horizon, Dean’s wings growing darker then black. For only a couple seconds, Dean connected with him and pushed some energy in him before breaking the connection. Cas faltered slightly as he resisted the urge to eat it to convert it to grace and moved the energy to his eyes, shapes coming back in through different shades of gray.

Only a few minutes passed until the came across the Holiday Inn. Cas let Dean’s power shimmer passively within him once he could see from the lights of the buildings. Dean showed no signs of wanting to touch Cas, so Cas simply kept it to himself, perhaps it might help him sleep. 

In tandem, they both landed near a corner of the roof, where they noticed the open window. Cas went first, demonstrating to Dean how to enter, keeping his wings tucked tight as he dropped. The bones in his hands throbbed when he caught onto to the sill and pulled himself in, but nothing serious. 

“Hello everyone,” Cas stepped further into the room, the pizza scent fresh around him, as Dean pulled himself into the room. “How was the drive?” 

Mary smiled at him from one of the beds, unlike a motel, there wasn’t much of a table to eat at. “Long. We got you boys each your pizza, just in case.” 

“Appreciated.” Dean grunted, snagging a box. “Mr. Starving has no qualms about taking any of my precious food.” 

Cas rolled his eyes, grabbing his and leaning against a wall. “If you are so desperate food, then it shouldn’t take up too much energy for you to use your soul to make sure you won’t starve to death.” 

“I could just use my soul to get rid of your hunger.” 

“I haven’t had taste buds as long as you. I think I'm entitled to have the chance to be able to taste everything.” 

Sam held up his hands. “Okay, not to get in the middle of your babbling, let’s talk work.” Sam exchanged a quick glance with Mary and Jack, who both nodded after a bit of hesitation from Jack. “Since you guys can’t work in the day, once you finish eating, go check out the different areas of where our nest could be.” 

Dean and Cas nodded, mouths full of pizza, and Sam continued. “In the morning, the three of us will be doing the FBI impersonation and going through all the interviews. Hopefully, with what you guys figure out along with us, we can pin down where this nest is and how big it is.” 

“The body was found close around here,” Mary held up a lose fist, listing a location every time she raised another finger. “With our primary locations being Borton Fruit or Columbia Valley Fruits, if it’s a warehouse. But there are plenty of houses that could be big enough to support a family. Yet, some of the houses in the area are big enough but also very wealthy, so check those last.” 

Jack gestured to the gym bag in the corner. “There are walkie talkies in your bag, since the backpack idea hasn’t worked yet, I hope that will make long distance communication easier.” 

Cas couldn’t say his thanks with the greasy cheese and pepperoni in his mouth, but he nodded his thanks. Damaging his phone would be an awful inconvenience, and it would be awful should it land on someone if he dropped it. 

“Uh, a walkie talkie?” Dean words, even if understandable, came out through a mess of chewed pizza. “Do we have the long reach ones?” 

“Yep. I even increased it with my spare time in the car.” Jack straightened up, smiling. “They have a reach of about forty miles, although they are extremely water sensitive. It shouldn’t rain but be sure not to electrocute yourselves.” 

Dean swallowed, and thankfully paused to finish talking before eating again. “Trust me, I have learned many lessons regarding electrocution.” 

As Sam scoffed, not bringing his eyes up from his laptop, Cas met Jack’s eyes. “Thank you Jack, I’m sure it will be a great help.” 

Jack smiled wider and Cas couldn’t help but to return it. It was unfortunate that he hasn’t been able to spend as much time with Jack, he did help the graceless Nephilim with training when they were still looking for Michael, but from his time in the Apocalypse World had made him independent, at least in his thinking. He sought out others but mainly relied on himself to find solutions. Very Winchester of him. 

Hopefully when he needed help from others though, emotional or physical, he won’t follow the Winchesters and talk to someone about it. Anyone, as long as he talks about it. 

“Anyway,” Mary called Cas’s attention as he moved onto the second half of his pizza. “Do you boys mind getting on the locations once you’re done eating? I understand how hard it is for the two of you work during the day, so finishing this quickly might be best.” 

“Sure thing Mom.” Dean, again with his mouth full, made a gesture over to Cas. “Say, you guys bring up a machete for Cas? And for me too?” 

Sam nodded, flung a hand towards the gym bag before finally shutting his laptop. “All of it piled over there.” 

Both Dean and Cas nodded back, and the others continued to say things. Dean gave Jack some tips on 'FBI-ing', as Sam and Mary filled Cas in on where the body was found. In the Southwest corner of a huge plot of orchards, much bigger than anything else in the area, owned by Ahtanum Orchard Company. Neither of them suspected the girl got any farther than five miles from the nest, due to the blood loss, but they would know for sure tomorrow after seeing the body. 

Dean clapped his hands once he finished, prompting Cas to finish his last slice a bit faster, and moved towards the gym bag. “Okay, since I want to sleep soon. I’m going to head out. And check out the warehouses.” Dean turned towards Cas, clipping his walkie talkie on his shoulder. “You good with taking a sweep of the nearby houses?” 

Cas nodded, swallowing before speaking. “I’ll be as silent as an owl.” 

“Don’t show off.” Dean looked towards Jack. “These things already synced up?” 

“Yep, they’re both ready to go.” 

“Sweet.” Dean grabbed a machete and headed towards the window. “See you all tomorrow.” 

With that he jumped out, and satisfied with no crashing noises, Cas resumed eating his pizza. Now that Dean left, the others began to stand as well, stretching their backs. Once Cas pushed himself off the wall, they took that as their cue to leave. Which Cas was certainly grateful for, he hasn’t quite grasped on how to get someone to politely leave. 

“Bye Cas,” Sam left first, and Mary followed behind him with a wave. Though Jack paused at the door, tilting his head in a goodbye. 

“We’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Cas smiled. “You can count it.” 

Jack smiled back and shut the door. Cas first went to the bathroom before flying out, slightly curious how Dean didn’t feel the urge to relieve himself, and quickly got ready to leave. He fluttered his wings as he clipped the walkie talkie on, trying to prepare the limbs for more flight. The winds were stronger today and Cas already anticipated the relief when he finally sleeps tonight. 

Cas grabbed his machete and made for the window, and while he did see the reasoning of starting tonight, he hoped that he would wake up some more from flying instead of growing more tired. He needed to be focused, if he didn’t put effort into this then what would be the point of doing it at all? 

Reactivating the leftover power from Dean, Cas jumped from the window. Silently shooting up towards the sky and away from the lights. The world sharpened and bloomed in different shades of gray. In gaining altitude, he saw the main city behind him, all the bright lights that would’ve impaired a real owl’s vision. 

Though the moon would be beautiful for owls. Tomorrow, it will be at full brightness. If there is cloud cover like today, Cas will convince Dean to spend ar least a half hour flying above the clouds. They probably won’t even need night vision, since it’ll be so bright for their eyes. 

He headed towards the hill once he got to the right altitude, only about a mile from the hotel, as he spotted several large houses. They were very wealthy, perhaps profiting off of one of the warehouses or large companies in the area. Vampires usually dwelled in run down houses, but Cas felt the urge to investigate regardless. 

Cas knew of vampires heightened senses, and with the quietness surrounding him the farther he flew from the downtown, he rose higher. He couldn’t see as much, but Cas thought of houses he observed. The ones high on the hill, with extensive driveways, still had quick access to the city but isolated from other houses as well. So no prying eyes or any chances of a scream being heard. 

Besides, as Cas evaluated the smaller houses that seemed more typical of vampires, there would be no way a neighbor wouldn’t hear a scream. Perhaps the first, even up to the third time, might be ignored, but the vampires couldn’t get away with it forever. The other houses weren’t sustainable. 

Then again, Castiel had no track record of successful hunts on his own. He knew how to be a solider and regulate resources to optimize usefulness, yet he fumbled with investigates. Spotting clues in plain sight yet easily overlooked, drawing references from previous patterns, and connecting them in a new way that leads to cohesive results, was something he had yet to master. 

Granted, on happier days, he would try to convince himself he didn’t have to ever have to think in such a way until meeting the Winchesters and had only ten years practice, in the midst of being dead or mentally hampered, compared to the millennia he has had to master being a solider. 

Today though, as his wings ached floating high above these houses, he felt as if he failed as a solider as well. 

Sighing and adjusting his grip on the machete, Cas dipped down slightly to take a closer look at the smaller neighborhoods. Most of these houses, even the small ones, stayed in good condition. Although the house located in the middle of an orchard proved to be a suitable fit for vampires. Isolated, yet not as ostentatious as the bigger houses on the hill. 

Cas, checking to see if anyone was in the area, dived low enough to make note of the street, Meadowcrest Lane, before curving back up with a few silent flaps to regain the same altitude. The muscles, used to the long flight with only small flaps to keep altitude, ached terribly. His full stomach wasn’t making the situation any better. 

He should have let his liver and sleep suffer; a coffee would have been perfect before flying out again. 

However, Cas decided to gather a few more similar locations, noting the streets and where they were on those streets. His wings ached horribly, the muscles stiff from the supporting the long-distance flying, which they aren’t designed to do in the first place, and they struggled to execute his commands. At least his wing shape made it easier and he didn’t have to as much effort into staying silent. 

That didn’t stop him from longingly wishing he could reach out to his grace, finding more than mere embers whose warmth Heaven sucked up and spared very little. 

Once he floated away from the third extremely wealthy house on the hill, even more isolated than the others yet had a large area for cars, when he heard Dean’s voice over the walkie talkie; which interrupted his very focused thoughts on whether if they’re party people and why they would live remotely if so. 

“Cas?” Dean’s voice buzzed with static and Cas found himself floating down to the orchard west of the fancy house. “You find anything with any potential?” 

“I found possibilities, but nothing that stands out.” Cas kept the button pressed, but he focused on landing as he descended into an orchard, his entire body slumping in relief when his feet hit the ground. “I’m mainly taking note of the most isolated houses, even if they’re on the expensive side.” 

“Good, but I think we’re good on heading back if nothing’s stood out to us.” Cas barely held back his sigh of relief, and his wings went limp behind him at the thought of sleep. Precious sleep. 

“-back.” 

Cas flinched back into reality, clearing his throat and repressing the button. “I’m sorry Dean, I didn’t hear that. Could you repeat?” 

“You can head back if you think you got everything. I'm pretty far out, checking another lead, y’know, just in case.” 

“Alright, contact me if anything happens.” 

“Awesome, see you soon Cas.” 

“Bye Dean.” 

Cas released the button once he finished talking, and switched hands holding the machete as he evaluated his options. Considering his focus kept fumbling off his task, it would be best to head back before he makes a mistake that leads to him being seen. Once he got back, he could make a list of the houses with most potential so the others could cross reference it with the evidence they find tomorrow. 

Groaning quietly, he lifted his wings and began to rise. The trees, while short, were so close together it made rising more difficult than what he’s used to. Once he cleared the tops of the trees though, he could head back to room and finally- 

He heard it, a quiet click, before something ensnared in his wings. He clawed at the air as his wings flurried within the net, feathers catching through the holes, before he crashed into trees. His heart pounding underneath all the branches snapping from his flailing descent. 

The ground, always unmerciful, had no give when his left shoulder slammed into it. His wings dragged over the ground as he tried to stand up, the netting throwing off his balance when he attempted to keep moving. He quickly brought the machete up, planning to get rid of the hindrance, when a second click went off, the second net wrapping up the rest of his body. The ground quickly meeting his right shoulder when he fell again. 

“Oh boy! Look at this! Catch of the century!” A male voice, with the irritating sneer of a teenager, trotted close towards him while slinging a net gun on his shoulder. While he kept a grip on the machete, he tossed out the idea of cutting himself free. There would be no way to get his wings out of the tangled mess they were in, and with the brash realization these creatures must be supernatural, most likely the vampires, he couldn’t begin to hope he might outrun them. 

“I wonder what it is,” Cas wormed on the ground, ignoring the victorious purr of the female, struggling to press the button on his walkie talkie. “I’ve never even heard of anything quite like this.” 

He pushed the button, covering the walkie talkie with his hand, right as he was kicked in the wing. A flare of horrendous pain shot through him, a half-strangled grunt ripping out of his throat as he strained his grip on the machete, the black of his black and white vision growing and blurring. Gritting his teeth as he was kicked again, wings smashed up against the ground as he was rolled over. 

“Oh no, none of that.” The female smiled, fangs a fuzzy gray as she kicked the machete, and considering how much strength vampires had, he let go of it for fear of breaking his entire hand. 

“I would say I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, as I was looking for you, but were the nets really necessary?” Cas’s eyes flitted between the two of them, a desperate tug pulling at him. Both had a feral gleam in their eyes, confidence radiating off themselves, the male’s attire reflecting that while the female was dressed poorer and in a more revealing way. 

Cas glared at the both of them as he responded to the tug, they were planning on hunting tonight. 

“Could never be too careful,” The male pushed a foot on his chest, his wings burning under the pressure but his hand forced to keep the walkie talkie button pressed, and leaned down with a sharp inhale. “Oh, do you smell that babe?” 

The female bent down, sniffing him. “Aw, what a little weak supernatural presence. If it weren't for the wings, I'd say-” 

Her eyes narrowed at his hand, before she snapped upright and stomped on his hand. He choked on his cry, the bones crunching and his whole arm spasmed with the seething pain, as the walkie talkie crackled and snapped apart. 

She twisted his foot, Cas clenched his jaw until his teeth hurt to keep silent, and she spat on him.The small glob of spit trailing down his cheek. “Sorry not sorry, but no friends allowed.” She shared a fanged filled smile with the male, reaching towards her back pocket. “It’s your catch, have some fun.” 

Cas panted, his entire hand a throbbing hot nebulous that consisted of pure pain, and he pulled harder on the tug. His sight started to darken drastically, Dean’s power fading away after all this time, but he kept his eyes up to see when Dean finds him. Perhaps if he could stall them then Dean might be- 

“Drink up, it’s super good for you. Better than any protein shake.” The male replaced his foot with a knee, the net dragging and digging into Cas’s face as his jaw was pried open. The vampire lifted his other hand, blood gushing from the wrist, and shoved it into Cas’s mouth. 

Panic latched onto Cas and he flailed his legs, gagging as his stomach buckled, wings desperately thrashing on the ground, the pain numbed out by the bitter and revolting fluid thickly flowing into his mouth. No! No, no, no, no! He couldn’t let this happen! 

Yet he felt his limbs falling limp despite his panic, his body going prone, only his gagging reflex still functioning. Yet as the vile blood gurgled down his throat, he couldn’t stop the instinctive swallow to stop choking. 

He grabbed onto the furious pulling from Dean’s soul, holding it desperately until everything went cold then dark. 


	12. Green Means Go

"Shit!” Dean surged, aimed for the spot where he felt Cas. He had no fucking clue how the soul detecting thing worked, he usually wasn’t even aware when he did call for Cas, but when he heard the walkie talkie go off and then a sharp tug that just felt like Cas, he didn’t think twice. 

But now Cas wasn’t responding. Dean felt him tugging, and you could bet all the money in the world Dean was flying his ass off chasing it, and then it just fucking _stopped!_

He cursed himself under his breath, tightening his grip on his machete. He just had to go out and check out the other warehouses, other big buildings he could see, distancing himself further from Cas. Why did he even go so far out in the first place? Sure, it would’ve been easier if Cas was asleep by the time he got back, but he could handle the awkward clumsiness that reared its stupid ugly head during random points in their conversation. But this! Of course this just had to happen! 

Couldn’t they get through one goddamn hunt without the thing _they’re_ supposed to be hunting ending up hunting them? 

He focused on the orchard where he got the last response Cas. He pushed harder, aware of his soul visibly throbbing through his wings, but not giving a damn about it. Thirty seconds, thirty seconds and he’d be there. He didn’t care if he blew up the whole fucking orchard or caused a statewide power outage, he was getting to Cas. 

The air burned past him as he tilted down in a dive, stopping his furious flapping to sped towards the orchard. Screw the people who see a green meteorite, screw his machete, he’ll fucking tear off the heads of these stupid vamps who think they can just take Cas! 

He tucked his wings in before he hit the trees, turning to roll sideways on the ground and popped back to his feet. His looked around, glaring at the lack of Cas around the gray trees. This is where the signal came from! Now where the hell did Cas go? 

“Cas!” Dean spun around, scanning for any sign of him. “Cas!” 

His eyes caught on something and almost instantly it sharpened. Dark gray amidst the trees, with a few splotches from dried blood of past hunts, Cas’s machete. It didn’t have any fresh blood, stupid vamps must’ve netted Cas up too good, but as Dean got closer, he could smell fresh blood in the area. 

Bending down, Dean scanned the dirt, hoping to figure out if Cas got seriously wounded, but he didn’t see anything. He could smell it in the air, absolutely vile and it made him want to punch something awfully bad, but there was nothing on the ground. 

Dean stood back up, rescanning for tracks too as thoughts continued to fly. There must be some blood on the ground, especially with how much he could smell, but nothing. Not one drop. How the hell could Cas get cut, then take care enough to try to move in a net to make sure the blood doesn’t get on the ground? It doesn’t make any goddamn- 

He saw some, finally, a glob of it on the ground a few feet away. It was pressed into the grass, and Dean snapped upright. Of course there wasn’t any fucking blood on the ground. He must’ve gotten hit in the head, damn those vamps if they gave him another concussion, and then carried him off. It must have knocked him out. 

Okay, Dean’s got tracks now and now he can find those vamps and end them. Dean took off running, eyes narrowed on the ground to follow the steps. Stupid grass was making it hard, would’ve been easier if there was mud or something. He couldn’t afford the time it took to get to Cas! He had to get him back before those vamps did something! 

He snarled and whipped around when he couldn’t find the next track. They’d been going in roughly a straight line, weaving through the trees, but Dean didn’t see any more blood and the slight impressions on the grass stopped. They turned! Why the fuck did they turn? Couldn’t they be predictable so Dean could rip their heads off faster? 

It took way too long, seemed like ten minutes, before Dean found the next track. They turned sharp to the left, slightly backwards, and Dean took off sprinting. He wasted too much time. Now that the vamps seemed to have a set destination, he was banking it to catch up. He wished he could fly, no matter fast those vamps ran they couldn’t stay ahead, but the stupid trees stopped that. 

“No!” He broke through the trees, stopping on the asphalt and swinging his machete into the air. “God fucking damnit! You’re all dead! Do you hear me? You’re all going suffer for this!” 

He huffed, scanning the road. He couldn’t even smell anything anymore, and they were obviously using a good truck because there weren’t any noticeable exhaust fumes either. With one strong flap, he blasted five stories up, hoping that they were driving something super obvious he could see. 

His eyes scanned everything, all of it crisp despite his rising altitude. There were few cars on the road, but they were just cars. Nothing nearly big enough to hold Cas. How could they get away so fast? They’re vampires! Stupid mindless vamps who are way too overconfident. Dean should be able to pick them out right away! 

Dean soared over the skies, ruthlessly scanning for anything that would give them away. He gave another once over to the roads, and almost rammed the first truck he saw only a few miles away from where he took off, until he realized Cas wasn’t in there. He almost checked the large cars, where the trunks are technically big enough to stuff someone with wings in, but instead went to look at the houses. 

He checked out all the isolated houses, the ones in the orchards and the expensive ones, but he couldn’t find him. It was like Cas just dropped off the face of the Earth! These vamps better not have any connections to Hell or something, because there would be a reckoning not even fucking Lucifer could hope to bring about it. 

Time blurred past him, his frustration seething inside him. He’s checked every house, examined every car he found on the road, and he was ready to start smashing through the garages he suspected the most. 

Soaring up, ready to dive through one, his fucking phone rang. Groaning, he hovered in the air and dug it out with his free hand, keeping an eye out just in case anything new came out. Fucking Sam, why did he need to call in the middle of the night? 

“What the hell to do want?” Dean narrowed his eyes at a truck coming into view, but its bed was empty. 

“Seriously? Look, I love that you’re really trying to find those vamps, but you just got yourself on the local news. Count yourself lucky that they think you’re some rich kid who has neon lights on his massive drone.” 

“Lucky?” Dean snarled, seeing a faint green glow around him before it dimmed. “Cas gets fucking abducted by the vamps and you’re calling me lucky? So if you aren’t helping then screw off, I’m busting into this jackass’s garage.” 

“What? Wait! No! Uh, don’t do that Dean!” Rolling his eyes at Sam, Dean moved to hang up- “What if you hurt Cas in the process?” 

Dean paused, eyeballing the lone house in the orchard. “I’ll heal him.” 

“Not if you’re busy with the vamps.” Sam sighed into the phone. “Look, if you come back, I think we can narrow down where Cas is without destroying innocent people’s property looking for him.” 

“That’ll take too long. Who cares if-” 

“It’s what would Cas would want.” 

“So? He can mad all he wants, as long as he’s _safe_ and mad.” 

“Please Dean,” Sam’s voice hinged on desperation. “I think we have a better, and faster, shot if all put our heads together.” 

Dean sharply exhaled, turning and flying towards the hotel. “Fine, I’m going back to the room.” 

“Okay, promise me you won’t be glowing?” Sam cleared his throat. “Can you get your soul under control?” 

“Yes I can control my own fucking soul. Be there soon.” Dean hung up, shoving his phone back into his front pocket. He was in control, complete control. He wanted to find Cas, he needed to get Cas back before something happened. Every action simply reflected that, and he was in control of what he wanted. 

Though it did take considerable effort and he almost dropped the machete trying to smother the glow as he kept eyes on the road. At first, he thought he succeeded, then his wings suddenly had bricks tied to them, and his soul briefly flared down his feathers to keep him in the air. 

However, Dean drew the power back and accepted the feeling the weight the closer he got to the hotel. Diving down, his wings even had the gall to tremble as he approached the room. Cas was in the hands of some monsters and his muscles thought they had room to complain. He would still be out there if it wasn’t for Sam. 

He flapped hard to slow down right before he landed on the roof, muscles aching, but quickly jumped down regardless. He ignored the ache in his hands as he pulled himself up, instantly glaring at Sam. Even though he managed to keep his soul from powering his wings, he didn’t little to stop the feathers from puffing up and the wings from arching over his head. Damn that ceiling. 

“Well?” Dean crossed his arms, lowering his wings down silently as they brushed the ceiling. “What’s your great idea on finding Cas?” 

Jack hastily glanced over to Sam, frowning at him, but Sam simply stepped towards Dean. He had a stressed, sad smile on his face. “Don’t worry Dean, I was thinking about it, and I think you can find him if you relaxed your soul.” 

“What?” Dean shook his head and turned around, since Sam didn’t have anything useful. “I’m going to use my soul to go and-” 

“You’d be more sensitive!” Sam blurted, “Right now, you can’t feel much, including where Cas is if he is trying to reach you. You might be overpowering his call. Think about it. If Cas is weak and you’re strong, you can’t detect him.” 

Dean hesitated. It would only take a few moments, calm down and listen for Cas. It made sense, with Cas suffering some sort of head injured, he might not be able to respond to Dean properly for him to find Cas. If it didn’t work, then Dean could be right back out there in just a moment. There’s a chance this might work. 

“Fine.” Dean grumbled and tucked in his wings, noticing that Mom wasn’t in the room. Perhaps she was still sleeping, which was fine. Dean could find Cas himself, right after he hears his call. 

He squeezed his eyes shut after a moment, trying to- what did Cas call it?- condense his soul. He drew the power into himself, letting it calm down. He would release it in a moment, he just had to do this and then he would go right back out and find Cas. Those vampires didn’t stand a chance. 

One deep breath, then another, until he felt it dwindle. He adjusted the grip on his machete, and while maybe not feeling the urge to rip heads off, he wanted to slice their necks in half. It was faster that way, more efficient. 

He took one more deep breath-

A force slammed into him, stretching and burning over his skin, furiously trying to rip his skin right off him. Stumbling back, his eyes flew open as the walls spun a bit before- 

Second wave. Harder than the first, this one crushing over his limbs. His wings, his wings were dead weights, and he dropped to his knees. His machete falling from his grasp as he started to spin. He was spinning but the ground stayed firm underneath him, was the ground spinning? 

His stomach bucked at the third, his back slouching as his arms went limp. It hurt, of course, but now it was distance, like muffled in water or something. He struggled to lift his head, straining his eyes to see what happened. Did the vamps find them too? At least he would find Cas that way. 

He got a glimpse of a white wall, strange since he could’ve sworn the walls were some brown color, with red markings repeating. Sam, maybe, perhaps Jack, was in front, but it was all spinning and his ears were ringing. He tried moving, focusing on his soul to get some energy flowing through him to reawaken his failing consciousness, when the fourth wave hit. 

Dean gasped, he tried to fight it, but the spin sped up and everything went black and he just couldn’t. He couldn’t feel a damn thing and. . . Cas, he couldn’t get Cas. 

Everything hurt. 

No particular place hurt more than the other, maybe his wings felt it more intense, but his body throbbed. Dean was no stranger to pain, and the ache didn’t seem serious enough where he couldn’t move, but he found he couldn’t. The energy required to lift his eyelids took the same amount of energy it takes to lift Sammy off the ground. 

He ate right? This awfully reminded him of when he went without food for too long. Where his muscles simply turned off, forcing him into stay still and give some shit lie to Sam that he had a stomachache so the kid wouldn’t give him any of his food. He internally grimaced, every single muscle he uses will have that tight burning feel that won’t go away, like a cramp that won’t heal. 

No, he had pizza. Last night. He didn’t even have to share because he got his own box as Cas got his own box too. Then he went out- 

Dean sharply inhaled as he remembered. Attacked. They were attacked when Dean just came back to find a way to look for Cas. Yet. . . 

Vampires never attacked. Dean snarled at his hotel bed, head butting the pillow underneath him. He here was, having this nap while the vamps still had Cas. He tried to push up with arms and roll out of bed, not caring that the room was lit with sunlight. He would have found Cas at night if Sam didn’t intervene. 

His wings burned, right there where they joined at his back and slightly at the tips, centimeters from his spine, as he tried to push up, unable to move as Dean shifted. Scowling, not acknowledging the automatic tears that shot to his eyes in response, he slowly lowered himself back down. Cas was liar, things this sensitive could not ever be used as a weapon, couldn’t get out of bed without feeling stabbed. Damnit that hurt, not enough for tears, but it caught him off guard. 

He took a deep breath, cursing Sam when he breathed it out, as he shifted his wings. Now he noticed it. Some knot was tied in his wings, weaved through his feathers that thankfully didn’t pull on them too hard as he squirmed, which connected the tips underneath the bed. Freaking great, his entire body was tangled in some Chinese finger trap. 

Sam didn’t even bother tying his hands, and Dean fished out his phone before he tried to wiggle his way out. He was going to tear Sam a new one. Why the hell did he do this? He was looking for Cas for fuck’s sake! 

The phone rang once, twice- “Dean, look-” 

“What the absolute hell?” Dean growled, glaring at the pillow in front him. “You remember Cas, right? The dude who pulled our asses out of more situations I can count and who’s currently kidnapped because you stopped me from looking for him!” 

“Dean-” 

“And the Chinese finger trap? Cute.” Dean pulled his wings apart, the complicated knot tugging at the bone along with tons of feathers. “Ten minutes and I’m out of this thing.” 

“You were about to- to- to missile into someone’s garage! I had to get you out of game. Now-” 

“Oh yeah, I’d say you got me out all right. What did you even do? It took me like a freaking minute to get my bearings, you screwed my instincts, bitch. I’m getting out of this and-” 

“And what Dean?” Sam sighed deeply. “You’ll be spotted in an instant and then where will we be? Jack and Mom are at the morgue, I just finished an interview, and I think we can narrow down where the vampires are. You just have to be calm about it.” 

“Calm?” Dean scoffed, “I’m tied up as if I’m about to have some BDSM action-” 

Sam sighed again at Dean’s abrupt pause, thankfully unable to see his wide eyes, and Dean latched onto Sam’s words. “Look, we weren’t sure how strong your soul was after we hit it. I hoped you would wake up when someone was there, but you’ll just have to hang tight for about hour so try and calm down, okay?” 

An hour. One fucking hour with that, _that thought_ , in his head and, and his dick fucking twitched again. Dean groaned, and he swore to himself that it was purely out of frustration. When was the last time he got any action, period? He can’t blame little Dean for being desperate for anything. Even if it was that. 

“I know it’s not a great situation, and I’m sorry we had to use sigils on you. But this is exactly why I thought someone other than Cas needed to know how to soothe your soul. Dean, man, you should’ve seen yourself, it was like, Mark of Cain intensity. Sure, you had saving Cas on your mind, but you looked ready killed anything, and anyone, that got in your path. Hell, you were ready for it. I promise Dean, we’ll get Cas back.” 

Dean didn’t say anything, wondering how much of his soul Sam whittled down, because his heart started drumming faster from purely his thoughts and heat flushed over his skin. Maybe a minute longer and sweat will break out over his skin. He couldn’t even punch anything, he just had to sit with this. If only he had some soul juice to get him out of this, to force his body to stop reacting. 

“Dean? Dean!” Sam shouted, right next to his ear. “I swear if you’re leaving-” 

“Chill Sammy,” Dean mumbled, “I was just listening to your sad apology, I give it a six out of ten. It had emotion, but you rambled.” 

“Dude, are you okay?” 

“Stellar,” Dean’s growled, sighing into the pillow. “No food in reach. No beer in reach. Best friend in the hands of some vampires. My own fucking soul is out of control. None of which I can do anything about because I’m tied to a bed for the sake of people’s lives. Tied up with my completely normal wings, if you forgot about that small detail.” 

Sam hummed, and Dean didn’t want to have to deal with the perplexed hum. “You usually fume for another half hour at most before moping, or just the entire time and not-” 

“Do you want me to yell at you? There’s plenty of ammo for that. Just say the word.” 

“Look, I’ve seen angry soul Dean and scary protective Dean, but I don’t want deal with a mopey Dean buffed from your soul.” Sam took a deep breath. “Please try to ready for us when we get there.” 

“’Kay.” Dean hung up before Sam could comment, stuffing the phone under the under the pillow so he wouldn’t even have to think about it. 

And Sam was wrong, he was not moping, Dean Winchester _broods_ and doesn’t mope. Girls mope after not instantly hearing back from their boyfriend. Dean Winchester broods over stuff like his best friend who got captured by a stupid nest of vamps and just starred in a flash fantasy that he is definitely not thinking about. 

If he was going to think about Cas, then he directed his thoughts to what might have happened to him. With the wings, Cas would have more blood in his body. So in possibility one the vampires had a feast as Cas got his blood drained and was now probably dead. 

He groaned into the pillow. Wrong thought. Wrong thought. Cas, no, Cas can’t- Dean wouldn’t let that happen. He would rip him from the Empty if that’s what it took. But Cas couldn’t die, at least not permanently. It won’t happen. It won’t happen. It won’t happen. 

How many times have they gotten captured by the thing they ultimately end up killing? Almost every time, and they were still around. The vampires had Cas, and that really sucked, but they wouldn’t kill him because they would use him as a hostage. These vamps have proved they have some brains with all that bloodlust, and the smart thing to do would keep Cas as a hostage. 

Oh God, what if they killed him though? Decided not to take the chance with some winged fallen angel within their nest. Who would watch horror movies with him? Cas has been the only person to ever put up with Dean for so long, and hasn’t gotten killed because of it, outside of family. Cas, who actual has been killed multiple times over, still decided to stay and damn him, but Dean wanted to keep that. 

Dean breaths grew heavier, his clothes sticking to his skin. He grabbed the pillow, fingers digging into it so he could throw it at something, at some point. Maybe pound his head into it. 

No one else could groom his wings. Dean would fly alone. No more races, no more watching the sleek black feathers shine with the sun or twinkle with the stars. Dean would have to learn how to fly on his own, and no one would be there to tell him how to improve or what he was doing wrong. He would be the freak with wings. 

Cas said he had the skies but screw the skies if Cas didn’t have them either. 

Dean went with head pounding. Yet the stupid pillow was too soft, and Dean couldn’t feel a thing. Resting on his left elbow, he punched the headboard. Again. A third time. His knuckles began to throb in between punches, the headboard rattling, and it wasn’t enough. The pain lingered like an itch, and that was nearly enough from the aching heat pounding in his chest that begged him to do something. 

Cas, the stupid little dork, who could master the tides of his pissed off soul and yet failed to understand common knowledge. Cas, who would deal with demons and do what angels thought to be unthinkable, all to try to ward off the next apocalypse. Cas, who would trade himself away in a heartbeat, maybe even faster, for the good of someone else. Every act for someone else. 

Dean’s eyes betrayed him. They looked over to the other bed, the completely made and unruffled bed. The one where Cas was supposed to be sleeping in after staying up and flying for so long. The bed that Dean should be able to look over and rely on that fact he would feel bitter and reassured, then get frustrated by that. 

Damnit, he should’ve been with him! So what if he got awkward because his stupid soul kept making his emotions more intense? So what if his wings did the most embarrassing shit? Cas hasn’t ever made fun of his emotions, might not even understand them half the time, and when he does understand he always has to be so fucking concerned with Dean instead! How many times has Cas gotten angry at him? 

Less than ten, less than five maybe, it was rare enough where Dean knew it shouldn't be. Dean deserved to get yelled at, and Cas should be frustrated with how much he has to put up with. But no. No, Cas had to take the blame on himself, the fucking bastard, and that forced Dean to admit that he does want the angel around, like, verbally. Usually only happens once per year, but he doesn’t have to tell Sam that. Sam understood, it’s just Dean yelling, but Cas wasn’t his brother and Dean couldn’t lose him just because his mouth got it the way. 

Now Dean lost him because he couldn’t handle that bouts of affection that Cas pried out of him. Stupid. Dean Winchester, stupidest man who ever lived but stubborn enough to somehow still be alive. 

Why did he let Cas go it alone so often? The dude was always working on something, always something important, and Dean never helped him. Cas showed every time Dean needed him, but Dean didn’t bother to even think how Naomi’s mind control affected Cas and wasn’t there when Metatron exploited him. Hell, it took Dean way too long to know the fucking devil was in his best friend, and he was told it. He didn’t help searching for Lucifer, and Crowley ended up helping Cas. He didn’t help searching for Kelly Kline. 

Dean Winchester, greatest friend one could ask for. 

Stupid soul, Cas probably wasn’t even dead, and Dean was just beating himself up for no real reason. Sure, in normal circumstances, he would still be super worried. But now he can’t even scrounge up the energy to punch the headboard with any energy. His knuckles haven’t even started bleeding. He never got this mopey- brooding- before the whole soul thing. 

Sighing, Dean flopped back onto pillow and pulled his phone out from under it. He unlocked it, staring at the screen for a solid minute, just staring, until he opened Words with Friends. He and Mom haven’t played it in a long time, but whatever, he needed to think of something else. 

The moment the thought came about reminding him how extensive Cas’s vocabulary is, he switched to something else. Music, and hey, didn’t Cas keep that mixtape with him when Michael had him? Why was the most stoic guy he knew was such a sap? 

He ended up going to Netflix, and he immediately backed out when he saw thought he saw Netflix show off the series Orange Is the New Black advertised upfront. To YouTube, where he eventually found this channel that talked about race cars and he didn’t listen to it, but hearing it took the space of his thoughts. 

Dean never even got the race car phase when he was a kid. Not when he had monsters to worry about. Monsters that just took- 

Nope, Dean shook the thoughts out and listened to the man drone on about how many people it took to get someone on a professional racecourse. 

Dean stared at the screen, watching the pixels change colors, when Sam came in. His eyes swept over him, Jack and Mom towing behind him, and Dean paused the video before turning his phone off. He watched that for forty-two minutes, and he can’t remember any of it, oh well. 

“So,” Dean pushed his head back into the pillow, “Is someone going to untie me or what?” 

“I’m on it.” Dean watched Jack crawl underneath the bed and- 

“Hey!” Dean jolted up, wings spasming despite the knot keeping them together, as fingers, _intrusive stabbing fingers_ , plunged into his feathers. “Hey! What- Stop that!” 

Sam sighed, “No Jack, keep going. You’re just going to have to deal with it Dean, there’s no other way to get you out.” 

Jack’s fingers, more cautious now, wormed into his feathers and Dean gritted his teeth to stay silent as shivers raked his body, dangerously close to trembling. Some part of him whimpered to him that Jack kept his hands clean, but Dean couldn’t imagine anything dirtier at the moment. Jack had to brush every feather the rope was entangled in and it was- how could something be so- 

Dean stomach buckled, and he screwed up his face to keep it down. Bile burned through his throat and his chest heaved with effort to keep everything inside him. Definitely trembling. But he could get through this. Someone had to do it to him when he was out. 

“Bucket!” That last thought, that image of this happening before, coupled with Jack having to go to the root of his feathers, sent his stomach reeling. Dean’s gag reflex already working as his stomach kicked his diaphragm. “Bucket-” 

Some white bin appeared under him and it came out. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he threw up. Seeing globs of food, but barely even feeling it as his mouth stung with stomach acid as Jack untied knots within his feathers, splatter in the bucket. It wasn’t green, though his eyes strained to focus, but a lightish brown riddled with red. 

When was the last time he puked? His stomach heaved again as Jack moved to the next knot, but only a few things could still make him squeamish, an extremely short list. He hasn’t had a stomach bug in forever, and sometimes he coughed or gurgled blood after a particularly hard kick, but Cas always healed- 

Jack reached to the underside of his wing. He was touching- god no! No! He _couldn’t_ touch- 

Dean flared his wings, thrashed them about but they couldn’t escape but had to get out still. His muscles flexed, a rush bursting through his blood, and his wings snapped out. He kept thrashing them since they still felt so goddamn dirty! 

He clutched the white bin, another heave emptying out the rest of the contents. His feathers rubbed up against the wall and ceiling, and that felt better, and he beat his wings against it. The rest of his limbs shaking, muscles clenched tight with disgust and his mouth stung with acid and violation. Yet he couldn’t do anything about that, not when his lack of control landed him in this position in the first place. 

“Dean-” 

“Shut it!” Dean was not proud to say his voice trembled just as violently as the rest of him. “Just, just, stop, I don’t want to hear it. I- What did you find?” 

“Honey-” Mom touched his shoulder- “It’s okay-” 

“No! Don’t touch me!” Dean scrambled to his feet, leaving the bin on the bed, wings snapping to his back. “Just tell me what you found that will lead us to Cas.” 

His wings kept shifting, feathers rubbing up against each other. He felt so disgusting, and he wished nothing more than the ability to get drunk right now. He was tainted, tarnished, vile, revolting, spoiled, marred, just so goddamn fucking _dirty_. 

Dean scrubbed at his face, eyes burning with tears that wouldn’t fall, and after puking his guts out, tried to ignore his organs still churning within. His fingers jerked and he wished Cas was here. Cas touched his wings and it felt like a massage, and then grooming- 

Shame swelled up in him and the air was getting hotter, hot and heavy. Swallowing, Dean curved a wing towards him, the middle of his feathers glowing green. Stupid soul, stupid grace making his soul stronger which made his emotions drown him out. Dean swallowed again, squeezing his eyes shut, the burning tears still refusing fall. 

Vampires. It’s all those vampires' fault. If it weren’t for them, then Dean would be waking up, untied, with Cas snoozing away on the bed with some stupid disorder they still had to fix. Dean could ask him to groom or fix his wings from last night and then Dean would return the favor and it would feel good, probably too good, but better than this shit! 

Dean jerked his arm out to the curled wing, ripping out the rope. His feathers burned, like someone was trying to rip his hair out, and he repeated the process to the other rope despite a feather falling out, ignoring a gasp. His wings still glowed, and his arms trembled, but it was time he saved Cas. He could fix this, this wasn't important, he just had to push harder.

He looked back at the others, not caring about the worried glances from the others. He didn’t care that he didn’t feel the same enraged determination, only a numbed cold thing freezing his shaking muscles. He didn’t care that his wings felt soiled. He cared about burning those fucking vampires out of existence. 

_“Where is he?”_


	13. Weather the Storm

The moon was full. 

Dean barely even needed to use any night vision, since it was just so bright. Not one cloud covered the sky or the stars that shone despite city’s brightest lights. A breeze hit him, weak, but probably much stronger higher up. Where Cas would drag him up, flying with him as the joy of freedom drew out the sincerest smile out of him. 

Pressing his lips together, Dean looked down. A huge house rested far below him with all of its big windows lit up, and after lots breaking into websites and connected data pointed to it, it had to be the nest. Cas’s prison. 

The lone Impala lights crawled its way up to the small mansion. Sam, Jack, and Mom couldn’t see him though, his wings not even flickering green. Sam didn’t even have to tell him, once they figured out where Cas, he could feel it. Just like when Cas condenses his soul to sooth his emotions, all that energy tensed up. Right there under the surface, so strong it prickled on his skin, but holding its breath. 

Dean smiled, wondering what Cas will think when he tries to get a grip on Dean's emotions. Granted, this house will experience what the official documents will report as a huge water heater explosion, and all the residents strangely missing, so Cas will probably feel a very gruesome satisfaction. 

The power shimmering right there, so drawn tight that Dean distantly wondered if his actions reflected closer to someone soulless, yet away from Dean. Like watching a volcano explode from far off and protected, an explosion that will kill people and wreck towns, but impatient for it to begin too. 

All that Dean cared about was that the explosion didn’t kill Sam, Jack, Mom, and Cas. Let all the vamps burn. Other innocents would be spared too. The vengeance scratching at his wings didn’t affect them. 

The Impala rounded the fancy driveway, parking in front of the doors. Dean flapped, lowering and getting himself in position, and he waited for his cue. Jack, who Dean taught how to pick locks earlier since Mom thought he needed to focus on something, bent in front of the door. A few minutes passed and Sam joined him, none of the lights wavering and no movement from the house. 

“Dean.” His walkie talkie buzzed with Mom’s voice. “Door’s-” 

She cut off as the door swung open, the three hunters leaning on the door frames and peering in. Sam entered first, and the radio buzzed again. “Never mind, move in.” 

The rest of his family slid in and Dean dived. Since no vamps attacked them outside, strange but that meant they’d be all together for Dean to burn all at once, Dean wasted no time to land in front of the porch and enter. Cas would’ve been proud of that landing, even if it wasn’t done in a relaxed state of mind. 

The entrance hall looked exactly as wealthy and snobbish one could figure out from the outside. With the exception of the golden chandler he expected, paintings and plants adorned the hall. Multiple hallways for them to explore, any of them could be where they’re keeping Cas. 

“We’ll have to-” 

“Hello hunters!” A booming voice from everywhere exploded the silence and every hallway slammed shut with gates or doors, even the front door. “You caught us! Ooh, so scared! Definitely didn’t see it coming.” 

Dean saw the glow around him before he felt it, his wings arching up. “I always find it strange hearing dead things talk. So just make this easier and give yourself up now.” 

“One more step towards the door-” The vamp hissed and Dean whipped towards Jack, who had his lock pick out and a few steps from a hallway- “and you’ll never save your friend.” 

Jack glared at the walls, at the hidden speakers. “What did you do to him?” 

“It’s doesn’t matter.” Dean advanced to the door, he’s had enough of this shit. “They know if they kill him then everyone they have ever loved dies and we resurrect Cas.” 

“Who said anything about killing him?” Dean paused, not from the words this time, but the chilling tone. He saw the volcano rumble, moments from exploding, his vision framed with a soft green glow. 

“There’s a reason why a vampire can’t turn a werewolf. We may be supernatural, but there’s pure chaos in doing that.” The speakers crackled, background vamps laughing. “So imagine our joy when we found something that, while supernatural, was so human we could turn it.” 

“No. . .” Dean froze, stomach swooping, and he could swear he stopped feeling his blood moving, despite hearing the distinct thump of his heart. 

There was a bang above them, chains rattling then snapped tight. And then there was Cas, wings pressed unbearably against his body as clumps of feathers weaved out, all stuck out at odd angels. He dangled, crazed thrashing against the chains mummifying him, only his hands and neck with any ability to move even slightly. 

Cas leaned towards them and bit at the air, long numerous fangs protruding his mouth, shrieking horrors and bloodlust, nothing even remotely human. Skin pale and tight, clinging to him sickly, eyes feverishly darting between them before letting out another horrendous screech. Fangs clicked together as he snapped at the air, desperately trying to reach the racing heartbeats he must be hearing. 

“Have fun hunting!” 

The chains fell. Millisecond by millisecond, Dean watched them fall. The top flailing down from the ceiling cage, the suffocating body wrap loosening and a wide gleam tarnished Cas’s eyes. He fell only a foot before he snapped out his wings, throwing off the chain as the beautiful black wings flap, so horribly ruffled as small sticks poked through the feathers. 

Then he dived. 

Straight at Jack. 

“No!” Dean rushed him, surging with energy, and Cas stopped, mid-dive, to spin around. The bone of the wing rammed right into Dean’s jaw, a sharp crack vibrating his skull as he was thrown to the side. Landing on his right wing and rolling over it, Dean jumped upright. The flare of pain gone as quickly as it came. 

“I’ll get him on the ground.” Dean leaped up towards Cas, a struggling Jack in his grasp, hoping Sam could hear him over Cas’s continuous enraged screeching. “Be ready.” 

“Cas! Please!” Jack squirmed as Dean latched onto Cas’s back, grabbing his head and ripping it off of its descent to Jack’s neck. His muscles burned, legs squeezing around Cas’s waist and wings beat furiously to interrupt Cas's flight as his arms straining to keep Cas’s head in control. 

“Come on Cas, you’re stronger than this!” Dean curled his wings into Cas’s, trying to interrupt his flight, and they staggered in the air. “You can fight this!” 

“I’m afraid not!” A new voice boomed through the speakers, revealing the howls from other vampires. “He’s chaos! A creature like him isn’t designed to be infected by vampirism. Your friend isn’t in there anymore!” 

Cas flipped forward, dropping Jack, and wings bucking like a bull. He dug his fingers into Cas, fangs snapping at his arms, and kept him from getting his blood. He gritted his teeth, dead man’s blood better be strong enough to subdue him until they hunt down his maker, Dean’s soul energy can barely keep up with vamp Cas. 

A shriek, daggers into his ears, encased him as Cas turned and dived him into the ground, lightning cracking down Dean's spine at the impact and healed just as quickly. But he couldn't stop his grip loosing for just a second, and Cas jumped away, surging to Sam. Sam, who turned his back and in the middle of running towards Mom, three vamps trying to drag her into one of the fortified hallways. 

_Fucking damnit!_

“Get away from her!” Dean’s hand shot out, vision burning a flaming white, and a pure rush zinged down his arm and burst through his fingers. He slumped over, world spinning and head pounding, and the confused thought wondered if something hit him in the back of the head. 

He shook himself out of it, another surge of power washing over him, and sprinted forward at wherever Cas was. Sam pinned down, using his machete as a shield from the crazed fangs, and Jack jumped on a wing, yanking on it. 

Cas squawked and launched up, spinning. Dean flapped up, but the kid got slingshot off into the wall and collapsed. Dean barreled into Cas the next moment. Jack down and god knows what happened to Mom, and Cas not even fazed yet. He needed a Winchester comeback. 

With a growl, Cas pulled his wings away from Dean and flipped backwards, his kick narrowly missing where Dean’s jaw was a moment ago. He swooped down on Sam again, and Dean scrambled to catch up, one of his wings hit a stupid wall, as Sam raised his machete. 

Outstretched arms curled into Sam’s, the sheer force from the descending angel knocking Sam’s feet from under him but his arm still in the mercy of the vampire’s grasp. Dean’s hand shot out again, energy desperately scrounging up again, as Cas revealed Sam’s wrist and clamped down. Fangs buried in human flesh, human blood. 

“Sam!” Dean tried to do the same move again on Cas, wrapping his legs from behind, but Cas flared his wings out last second, unyielding as Dean flew chest first into the rods they tensed into. 

Dean groaned, taking a knee as he wheezed for oxygen, even as the pain quickly vanished. It didn’t matter if his soul had the energy to blow the continent, Cas drank blood. Cas- Cas, he couldn’t- there wasn’t- 

“Woohoo!” Dean startled, the speakers flaring back to life. “The legendary hunters, hunted down by the friend they couldn’t save! How does it feel? Watching loved ones sliced down!” 

Dean shot forward, colors and noises all blurring, his heart rallied against his chest, his own defying scream deafening out his own pulse, silencing the vamps behind the speakers. He latched onto Cas, arms, wings, and legs, and the angel released Sam with bloody fangs with a screech. His wings battered within Dean’s, arms trying break free, but Dean had him in a lock tighter than those chains. 

He blasted into Cas, trying to keep enough of his soul energy in his limbs to confine Cas. Dean could be shot and be none the wiser, all of his attention and all of his awareness funneling into his friend, desperate and determined. 

Cas’s being, without his grace, has always seemed small, but Dean felt like he was bashing into a huge storm. Thick red clouds oozing and clashing, bright blue flashes burning it away only to be swarmed a moment later. Dean slashed and clawed his way through, waves of bloodlust rolling off and the ever-repeating thought whipping around like wind. 

_Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood._

Dean scrambled to get in the middle, find something of his friend still in there, but he kept faltering. Something pressed down and sucked energy out all at the same time, draining him at a rate he simply could not keep up with. 

But if he left, gave up, Cas was gone. There’s no coming back. After everything they’ve been through, after all the times they defied fate and death alike, it’d all be gone to a crazed monster. Absolutely the worst way to go. 

Which was- No! Not happening! He couldn’t lose that! He couldn’t lose Cas! He’s lost too much, too many people, and damnit, but Cas was not going to be one of them! 

He felt a heat blooming up through his battered soul existing in Cas’s storm, overflowing towards his friend. Images spilled over him, the mighty Angel of the Lord in the barn, furious eyes pinning him to a wall, a broken but not-cursed smile, watching a trance break above him, a drunk and homeless human smiling with him over a beer, the stubborn friend who told him to stop, bleeding eyes looking up at him and curled in a blanket, desperation over Billy’s body, black pus crawling up pale skin and a confession of love, the devil-murdered angel standing next to the telephone booth. 

He burned with a shrill scream, holding onto those precious memories. The flaming white encased him again, until it seethed bright golden, blindingly luminous. Heat, warmth, fire, it all rushed through him, out of him. Fire, fire, it was everywhere. He heard it, felt it deep within him, all he could see, only aware of the blasting heat. Fire in him and out of him. The fire him. 

He was the fire. 

And he burnt the storm out of Cas, incinerated the bloodlust and the bloody storm clouds shriveled up and died. He blasted through Cas, fire fanning out over everything. Any spec of vampirism toast, everything ash under his heat. 

Maybe an eternity passed as flame, no body and just a pure force unleashed, until he withdrew. Fuel exasperated and Dean fell out of Cas, long off nerves telling him he hit the floor. Ears, miles and miles away, whispered to him of vague shouts. Bright lights, strange pastel fireworks bursting so high and far above him, yet also the only thing he could see. 

Then the adrenaline came. No fancy magical powers or some supernatural juice flowing in his blood, just a good old blast of adrenaline snapping him back. Dean blinked, hard, and sight came rushing back in a blur. Mom at the door and Sam had his machete high above his head, one arm spurting out blood, ready to swing down on Cas’s limp form. 

“No!” He wheezed, legs wobbling momentarily before he stood. “I burnt it out of him. He’s good, not a vamp, I saved him. Don’t-” 

Dean prepared to fall in his knees, planning to show Sam the nonexistent fangs, but Sam pulled him forward. "Fine, but we got to go. We gotta get out of here right now!” 

Dean blinked, belatedly remembering Cas was not the only vamp here. He scrambled to get Cas, wings included, over his shoulder, his own wings out to keep the black ones up, as the hallways opened back up. The echoes of bitter vampires from all the hallways building up in the grand entrance hall. Mom rammed her shoulder against the door, the heavy wood entry swinging open to darkness as Sam grabbed Jack. 

Desperately trying not to fumble Cas, Dean repositioned him to his front as he sprinted outside. His wings burned, pitiful coughs of energy coming from an empty tank as he jumped up, batting his wings. He built momentum without his soul there to shoot him up. It hurt like crazy- how the hell did Cas get so heavy?- but Dean pushed up to the night sky. 

Still, adrenaline faltered in him and the moon blurred into an oval. Dean, barely above the height of the vamp’s nest, tilted his wings towards the Holiday Inn. Not sure what he would do if the nest wasn’t on a hill and the inn wasn’t so close by. Barely thirty second passed and his arms and legs trembled around their grip over Cas. 

The wind, kindly pushing in the right direction, lets him get to the roof, without hitting one of the big vents, and beat the Impala there. Not bothering to even try to land, Dean twisted last second to crash on his back. Cas’s weight pressed into him with wings flopping ungracefully to his sides, and he looked unharmed. Since the blood all over his chin, gleaming in the moon’s bight light, wasn’t his. 

With all adrenaline completely wiped from his system and nothing coming from his soul when he attempted to call it, or whatever Cas said what happens when he accesses his soul, Dean let out apathetic groan when he heaved himself to his feet, wings limp, as he hooked his arms under Cas’s shoulders, slowly dragging him to the proper edge. 

He got a what only felt like moment’s rest before the window slid open, his Mom calling up. “Drop him.” 

Grunting, Dean heaved his friend over the edge and sighed when two arms snapped out and caught him. If Cas was awake, he would’ve complained about his wings dragging on the window frame, but it was all they could do. 

Sparing another moment to brace himself, Dean dropped over the side. He nearly let go of the sill when he grabbed it, and it took a lot of moaning and groaning to hoist himself inside. The sight he received as an award weighed on his tired heart. 

Only the dim light from the bathroom, where Mom reassured Sam’s grunts, leaked into the room, Cas left on the ground next to him. Jack sprawled out over the bed, very limp, and Dean drag himself over. No feverish skin, no sweat, and when Dean pressed two fingers to his pulse, a strong and steady beat throbbed underneath. 

He sighed, closing his eyes in relief. Kid’s gonna have a hell of a headache when he wakes up, but Dean suspected that the hit knocked him out, then his subconscious decided sleep would be the best course of action. Once told, Jack will probably beat himself up about it, but resistance to getting knocked out has to be built over time. Natural increases of bone density takes time and Dean remembered the days when he went out cold then fell asleep for the next five hours as his body tried to repair itself. 

Shaking the thought out, he stumbled towards the bathroom. His wings dragged over the ground, but at least when he wakes up Cas can groom them and then he’ll groom Cas’s. He leaned on the doorway and looked in. Sam had his arm out, Mom stitching him up. Alcohol, bitter and acidic, tinged the bloody air. 

“Good?” Dean grunted, too tired for anything more. 

“Yeah,” Sam threw a wobbly smile at him. “Don’t expect me to aim very well, but I’ll live.” 

Dean raised his eyebrows at Mom, and she nodded too. “A few new bruises, nothing to worry about.” 

“Toss me a wet rag?” Dean waited only a moment before Sam flung one with his free arm. As expected, his aim was shit and the rag had already started to dry, blood stains scattered about it. Yet Dean grunted a thank you and left. 

Despite Cas's undoubtedly awkward position, Dean stooped down and scrubbed Sam's blood off his chin. Cas didn't get any blood on his, technically Dean's, clothes, and Dean wasn't sure that was a good thing or not. 

Still, the blood removed from Cas's face sent his body dropping in relief. Dean came very close to just about falling asleep right there, slumped upright over his best friend on the floor in a hotel room. 

Instead, groaning all the way through it, Dean hooked his arms underneath Cas's shoulders and focused not to step on his wings. After everything Cas just went through tonight and the day before, he deserved a bed. And frankly so did Dean. Although his thighs strained and back complained about it so much Dean thought that sleeping slumped over would probably feel better. 

Dean grunted, hoisting Cas onto the bed and adjusting him. The black wings seemed like shadows in the dim lighting, though the ruffled feathers and sticks kinda ruined that. Absentmindedly, Dean picked them out and soothed the wildest of feathers. He placed a knee on the bed to reach the other wing, leaning and leaning to fix the shadowy wings despite his weary body. 

He huffed, with a slight mental kick at how weak he's being, but stretched out to pluck the last stick from the feathers. His own wings gave a half-assed flutter, trying to stir him farther. 

Stick gone and he collapsed. Dean would move, soon, but God did it feel good not to move. Not even be tense, just let his muscles pool in sweet relief. 

For the sake of his friend though, he tried to move. To clamber off him and sink to the floor and sleep, screw the fact he was pushing forty-one. Yet, he failed to drag himself over, aiming another weak mental kick at himself, and his flopped down on Cas's chest. At least with one leg and wing off the bed, Dean could abuse gravity to slump the rest of the way. 

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump._

Dean hummed, smiling against Cas's t-shirt. Good sound, a very good sound. It meant Cas was not only alive, but back. Cas, alive and with them again, not in the hands of some monsters. Safe and sound once again. 

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump._

In his lethargic state, he shifted slightly to press his ear against the faint thump. Such a steady beat, strong one too, and Dean couldn't believe he let some vampires stop it. But no matter now, he got it back. 

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump._

Such a good sound. 

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump._


	14. Sleepy Angel

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump_

Dean didn’t open his eyes, didn’t suck in a deep breath. Some of his muscles twitched, but his joints ached with the small movement. Everything ached, his muscles throbbed with his pulse while gravity gnawed at bone. His wings, for the first time since he got him, didn’t connect with the rest of him. He could barely feel them, just the vague sense of _something_ , that something exists there, but so numb he can’t feel anything. 

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump._

Each breath in prickled, very stabby. Despite his grogginess, his brain didn’t suffer as much as his body. He remembered breaking into the vamp’s nest, Cas dangling from the chain then attacking. He remembered the shrieking, shrieks so high and piercing and so desperate. He remembered how viciously the fallen angel attacked, no punches pulled and pure cold-hearted warrior, death and injury affecting no conscience. 

His lungs flinched as he sighed, yet his thoughts tangled over the bloody storm he found within Cas. He remembered what it was to be a vampire. How vision colors red, ears narrow in on the heartbeat, how his entire body ached for blood as it would ache for sleep after days of not receiving it. Yet he had his thoughts, he recognized his brother and his morals stayed intact. Despite how much he wanted to suck the blood out of Ben, he despised it more. 

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump._

But Cas. . . God, even Dean's super juiced up soul faltered in that mess, draining in mere moments. Dean never even found some core aspect of Cas, but he remembered the blue flashes trying to break the storm. Those flashes, so thin and fleeting, they were no match for the storm. Part of Dean wished Cas could fight his bloodlust off, but after that, Dean couldn't feel mad despite the fact Cas chomped on Sam's wrist. This doesn't matter anymore though, Dean used his soul juice and burnt it for him. He fixed it.

Dean dozed again, unable to get a grip on his thoughts as he laid there. He thought he stayed awake, mostly, as the constant tha-thump never seemed to stop. Memories blurred, maybe into dreams, happy moments bright and the bad ones dark and red. He must not be dreaming, most things are bright. And the Impala wandered into his thoughts, nothing ever bad happens with his Baby. 

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-_

“JESUS CHRIST!” Dean seized as icy cold water dug into his skin and soaked to his clothes. He tried to get to his feet and spin around, hands up to his attackers. Yet his body did a half-assed job executing it. Dean got to his feet and tumbled back onto the other bed, the weight of his stupid wings throwing him off. But try as he might, Dean couldn't get past the stupid numbness of said stupid wings. 

Dean lifted his head, his cold, wet, and extremely heavy head, and glared at Sam. “You’re a real bitch, you know that?” 

“You’re a real jerk for not getting up.” Sam shrugged and glanced back at Cas. “Though I was hoping to wake Cas up too.” 

“Yeah, yeah. How’s the arm?” Dean gestured to the limb, adjusting off his feathers and blinking hard. The water gave him a nice jolt, hell, he could still feel water dripping down his neck, but his body already accepted the situation and pleaded for rest again. 

“The bone’s only bruised, I’m lucky I didn’t break another one, but grabbing stuff hurts a lot.” Sam raised the wrist, frowning at it in disgust. “I’ll live, but I’ll be confined to the Bunker for a while.” 

“Awesome, real awesome.” Dean heaved for through a yawn; he's a hunter goddammit, he should be better at staying awake than this. “Hey, what time is it?” 

“Around 2, we just got back from lunch and renting a U-Haul.” 

“Wow, must’ve gotten over ten hours.” Dean rubbed the side of his face, trying to pump himself awake, but his arm refused to get so much as shoulder height. “No wonder Cas didn’t wake up, I still- Wait, did you say U-Haul?” He tried to give a somewhat questioning look to Sam, but another yawn ruined it. 

Sam gave him his best ‘No duh’ face and waved to the both of them. “You and Cas aren’t exactly in flying condition. I’m driving you guys back to the bunker.” 

“Are Mom and Jack-” Dean circled his wrist, urging his mouth to catch up with his thoughts- “driving the Impala?” 

“Up for debate.” Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Mom’s for sure staying with the Impala, Ketch and a dozen other hunters are coming up, British Men of Letters tech with them. Mom will be doing some more research, see if we can pick them off while they hunt. Jack wants to stay, real adamant about it, and while I wish he didn’t, he didn’t get injured enough to take that choice away.” 

“How is he?” 

“Jack? Had quite a few painkillers and got lots of bruises, but actually much better off than my wrist. It takes more effort than I like to hold a gun and aim.” With those words, Sam flexed his wrist. An almost unnoticeable tightening of lips accompanied it. 

“Hmm.” 

“Hey!” Sam clapped in his face, startling him upright. “Stay awake!” 

“Why?” Dean desperately rubbed at his temples, and his tiredness outweighing feeling cold and wet and his pride. “It’s day, we can’t walk down and get in the U-Haul.” 

“Yes, you can. If someone questions it, we tell them you’re testing Halloween costumes or something.” 

“Cas?” 

“You guys had a lot to drink last night,” Sam smirked, “And probably this morning too.” 

Dean rolled his eyes, “And why haven’t we just taken them off? And why am I wet?” 

"Oh,“ Sam widened his eyes and nodded a bit, acting like if Dean was a stranger asking him. “It’s really complicated, and we didn’t want to damage them when you guys are so impaired. And I needed someone awake to help me.” 

Groaning, Dean got to his feet. “Fine then, let’s go. I’m blaming you if we get arrested.” 

“Sweet, everything’s pack.” Sam gestured for him to the other side of Cas’s arms. “Now come on, I need your help getting him down.” 

“Who taught you manners?” Dean tugged off one the jackets Cas had borrowed from him, the outer one completely soaked in his hands. “Let’s not freeze the guy we just saved.” 

Sam scoffed but removed the second one, taking it and the other from Dean and throwing it on his shoulder. “I believe you did. And that shirt’s dry enough, so let’s get him down already. I want to get out of this state before nightfall.” 

“Y’know,” Dean grunted, helping Sam pull Cas off the bed. “The whole top floor thing totally sucks right now.” 

Sam grunted in return, and they somehow didn’t drop Cas. Most of Cas’s weight went onto Sam, something Dean wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or ashamed about. Still, Dean had one of the arms hooked over his shoulders, Sam had other, using his good arm to grab onto Cas’s. 

Since it was midday on a weekday, they didn’t run into anyone even as they stepped off the elevator. Sam’s lie about them being drunk wouldn’t be horrible, Dean huffed and puffed to move at their snail's pace and couldn’t rise out of harsh slump of his spine. Dean’s wings dragged behind him lifelessly, a dead weight that only flinched, maybe, when he tried to lift them. Probably good his wings were so limp, kept Sam’s lie more believable. 

The receptionist gave them a completely bewildered look, not as horrified as the ones when they tell someone monsters exist, but utterly stunned. Dean heard Sam say his lie, or at least enough of it, but didn’t register any of the words. He just had to put one foot in front of the another and drag his wings and Cas to the U-Haul. That's his entire purpose, no need to cluttered his head up with anything else.

By the time the sunlight pierced his eyes, his sight fuzzed, and Dean failed to focus on anything in particular. He could see the bright orange of the U-Haul, but he couldn’t make out any details. Didn't matter though, Dean was going to sleep and that thing and he was damn well happy about that. 

He and Cas leaned up against one half of the back, Sam undoing the latch. Things clinked and keys jingled until he and Cas had to move around yet again. Dean swallowed down a groan, he still had some pride, but just that small bit of rest entangled him in a desperate urge to sleep. His muscles barely kept him upright when Sam needed to climb in to pull Cas in, tugging up Dean too. 

Sam, gracious enough to use a gym bag as a pillow for Cas, got him in the middle. Dean thought the black wings were spread out as comfortably as they could be, but Dean couldn’t be sure. His eyes and brain and light were having disagreements. 

Dean collapsed to his knees as Sam jumped out. With very little shame at this point, Dean rested his head back on Cas’s chest. The nice, reassuring _tha-thump_ back in his head. Besides, this position let his wings be comfortable too without crowding Cas. Good, all good things. Sleep, oh sweet sleep. 

There may be been a bang, probably, in the midst of _tha-thump_ after _tha-thump._ Dean felt a rumble and wondered if Cas just snored. He never heard Cas snore before but, well, it might be possible. 

Maybe. 

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump._

_Tha-thump._

His own gasp woke him up, or did something else? He shivered, and a cold dampness clung to his shoulders. His wings felt fine, he couldn’t feel his wings, and he curled into the warmth under him. Dean fisted a blanket on top of him and tucked it over into him, pressed into the other side of. . . of Cas. Yeah, Cas should have the blanket too. 

_Tha-thump._

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump._

The truck rattled every once and while, Dean peeling his eyes open for a moment before closing them. It was dark anyway, better just to stay asleep. Besides, he was warm, so deliciously warm. Dean smiled and pressed into Cas’s chest, the next tha-thump even stronger. 

He shuffled his wings closer to his back, covering him and Cas along with the blanket. Sighing softly as his wings dragged over Cas’s feathers, it was easy to forget how amazingly soft and incredible Cas’s feathers are. Like a blanket underneath him too.

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump._

_Tha-thump. Tha-grrrrrrrr. Tha-thump._

Dean groaned, a hunger pang rousing him. He blinked for a moment, ‘til he remembered that it didn’t matter if not one speck of light was to be found. Moaning again, he finished for the phone in his front pocket. His stomach growled for more, but sleep stay entwined throughout him. His stomach had no fighting chance against convincing him to move against gravity.

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-_

“Dean?” Sam’s voice blared through the speaker, Dean flinching away from it. 

“Yeah, uh, it’s me.” The metal walls echoed back to him, and Dean lowered his voice from quiet to barely a whisper. “Any food soon?” 

Tha-thump. 

“It’ll be about thirty minutes. What do you want?” 

“Anything tha-” Dean yawned- “that’ll still be good if I fall asleep before I finish.” 

“’Kay.” 

“Thanks Sam.” Dean hung up and tossed the phone above him, flinching again at the loud rattle, but let him adjust as fast as possible, repositioning the blanket. With Cas’s steady heartbeat, the never-failing _tha-thump,_ Dean ignored his stomach in favor of focusing on the warmth. He won't die of starvation, he could go back asleep.

Another sigh, hunger barely a blip on his mind, and Dean curled into the warmth. His wings tightened and eyelids fell shut. So warm, so very nice and warm. 

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump._

_Tha-thump. Tha-_

Dean lifted his head, squinting in the pitch-dark area. It took a moment for him to drag his power up, but then things flickered black and white, fuzzy though. His stomach growled, and his throat desperate for the water he was sure was in that small light grayish paper bag on the blanket near him. 

Cas. . . Dean glanced down at him, his light gray t-shirt crinkled after being Dean’s pillow for so long. He wondered if Cas woke up for just a few minutes during the truck ride to eat the other bag. Woke up with Dean pressed against his side. Woke up as Dean breathed over his chest. Woke up with one of Dean’s legs thrown in the middle of his. Woke up with an arm curled over his stomach, tucked into his side with a blanket. 

An intense heat festered in Dean’s face. Did this count as some sort of. . . abuse? Abuse felt strong. But just cuddling with someone- Dean mentally bashed himself since the disgusted shiver he expected to go through his organs failed as a fluttery thing entered his stomach instead- without their consent had to be something bad. Definitely bad, but why- 

Dean groaned and glanced around if there was any convenient way to distance himself. There was only disappointment. Sam didn’t rent a huge U-Haul, and with them laying down and their wings adding about an extra two feet or so, he would be inadvertently touching Cas wherever he tried to go. 

Maybe it wasn’t so bad if he- 

Cutting off the thought, Dean grabbed the paper bag and sat back on his heels, one of Cas’s legs beneath him. He did indeed drain the water bottle that was in there, and the other one, before chowing down on the bagel sandwich. How fancy, maybe Sam was feeling bad for him. The bagel stayed fresh for whatever undetermined time it sat in that bag, and his taste buds rejoiced over the chips and cookies. 

He finished it within five minutes though, the disadvantages of eating so fast. 

Dean looked down at Cas again. There really weren’t a lot of options. It wasn’t like he could sit anywhere or lie somewhere else without potentially damaging a wing. So really, he didn’t have much of a choice. It was either lay on Cas or be horribly uncomfortable. With his stomach churning satisfied and a drowsy peacefulness surging once again, the most comfortable option seems best. 

He laid back down on Cas’s chest, which was frustratingly nice and warm, but he shifted and wormed instead of relaxing. Perhaps if he could just wake Cas up, then they could shift and talk to each other. They would probably apologize to each other, or perhaps Cas can’t even remember what happened. Whatever the vampire’s blood did to him, it wasn’t right, even for the supernatural. 

_Tha-thump._

Sighing, Dean reached forward and brushed Cas’s neck, the pulse lightly throbbing just beneath the skin. His hand settled over his jaw, and Dean smiled a bit. Cas probably hasn’t even thought of it, but the guy has a little scruff going on now. 

_Tha-thump._

It took a moment to call his soul-grace, still a little low, but Dean pushed into Cas easily enough. Now to wake up that bastard- 

_Tha-thump._

Where was Cas? 

_Tha-thump._

What the hell happened to Cas! 

Dean shot into the body, fanning out to every aspect of his mind and thoroughly scan his body. But nothing. Nothing! His mind? Horribly cold and empty, not even dreams. His angel soul? Nada, just a frozen void. Cas wasn’t here! But- but there had to be something. Cas’s body hasn’t gotten up and started acting soulless. Dean saw the brain send a continuous message to keep breathing to the lungs. Dean even noticed how hungry and thirsty his body was! 

Yet there was nothing! 

Dean reared back into his body- 

_Tha-thump._

-and Cas had to still be in there if his freaking heart hasn’t stopped yet! 

Dean grabbed onto his shoulders, shaking him and pleading under his breath despite the vivid emptiness that touched his soul when he went in him. That fucking frozen void, so bitterly cold, it crawled into him when he left Cas. His memories, the rare ones where Cas was full blown smiling, froze and shattered in front of him, and he kept frantically shaking Cas as if that could preserve his memories somehow. 

His arms shook, his wings trembled violently, and he stared, pleadingly, at Cas’s face. For that stupid serene face to jerk back to life. For blue eyes to spring out. For a frown and the question what the heck Dean was doing to fill the air. 

But it never happened, Cas wasn’t in there. Burned alongside with the vampirism, the burning Dean did.

“No!” Dean pounded his fists into Cas’s chest, the steady tha-thump beating beneath his clenched hands. “No! I didn’t- Cas!” 

Dean killed him. Dean killed him. Dean failed and killed him. Oh God, he killed Cas. He killed Cas. It wasn’t even like Dad or Bobby or Ellen or Joe or Charlie or Kevin or anyone else he fucking cursed by loving them. No, Dean murdered Cas with own fucking soul! The same soul Cas saved from the Pit!

“No!” Dean’s voice broke, shattering and screeching. “No! No no no no no! Cas, no. I can’t lose you too! You can’t- You said you would still be alive! You bastard! You said you would stay alive!” 

But Dean murdered him. _Dean Winchester killed Castiel._

“I’m sorry!” Dean hiccupped and dropped his head over Cas’s chest, where Cas’s heart still thumped beneath his hands. “I failed you. I fucking failed you. I’m so sorry. You weren’t- I’m so sorry.” 

Light poured into the space, beautiful black feathers sucking up the light, a faded gray comforter still covering some parts of his wings and legs. Like if Cas was only sleeping, as if there was still something in there ready to wake up and do something. As if there was still a friend in there to talk to. 

“Dean! What the-” Sam cut off and Dean lifted his head only to get stuck on Cas’s face, his peaceful expression, blank from stress and empty of joy. “What happened? Is Cas still a vamp, just like, barely though? Is he hurt and you can’t heal him?” The metal clanged as Sam jumped up, taking a knee on the other side of Cas, rumbling the dead feathers. “Come on Dean, just tell me-” 

“He’s gone.” There it was, the admission. It screwed his insides and Dean clamped his eyes shut at that horrible, utterly awful fact. Dean lost him, Dean killed him, when he was just right there. If he had done something different! If he just stayed with him! 

“What?” Two fingers pressed to Cas’s neck. “He’s still alive, we just-” 

“No Sam,” Dean lowered his eyes, focusing them on the fists shaking on Cas’s chest. “He’s not. It’s all empty, _he’s gone_. Just a beating heart left.” The air burned in him, his eyes burning dry, wishing for tears that would not come. “I killed him. I didn’t even try to just burn the vamp out of him, I just burned everything. _Everything_. And now he’s gone.” 

Sam reached towards his shoulder. “Dean, I’m sure-” 

“No!” Dean whacked his hand away, glaring at Sam. “He’s gone! I searched! Okay? Every nook and cranny of his mind, and nothing. He’s not even dreaming, his body’s just- just- just on autopilot!” 

“Dean,” Sam’s eyes flickered to Cas and his jaw clenched. “We can figure something out. Resurrect him.” 

Dean’s fists broke and fingers dug into Cas’s shirt, his lips trembling as he glowered at Sam. “Jack’s out of juice and only dead things can get into the Empty! We have nothing! Nothing!” 

Sam glared back at him. “You don’t know that! We’ll find something. We always find something, there has to be something out there. There always is.” 

“Cas is gone!” Dean shouted at him, the walls shaking around him and the wail of a car alarm filled the small silences. “I killed him Sam! He’s not coming back!” 

The void he found in Cas reared up in him, freezing everything it could. Dean’s heart staggered with every beat, golden memories of Cas, of the unkillable angel, falling apart. The best friend, who’s always fucking there for him, gone! Gone gone gone! No, why did he let that happen? Why did he cause it? 

His soul was getting out of control. Dean could feel it. How every cell trembled while muscles shook in their loss, one leg burning and the other freezing. His head felt submerged in icy cold water, his chest quaked. But Cas wasn’t there to fix. He’d never be there again, Dean killed him. Murdered. He did this! He murdered Cas! 

Dean stood and, when Sam stood to stop him, pushed Sam out of the way. He didn’t care if it was day, didn’t care if someone saw him, he didn’t even want to fly. Dean jumped out of the U-Haul, flapping hard into the sky. He didn’t want the sky, it was huge and lonely. Who cared if some stupid person reported a huge bird man flying about? What could they do to him? Cut his wings off? 

He clawed his way to the clouds, his eyes burning in the wind. He flew higher, breaking through the first level of clouds and still going. Higher and higher up to the thin wispy clouds, where the wind would carry him somewhere. Anywhere. 

He couldn’t look at Cas anymore. To see his friend, to feel his heartbeat, but know there’s nothing in there. How could that have happened? How did his soul burn Cas? Dean wanted Cas to live! So why would his soul do that? It should have avoided Cas, it should have kept him alive, not kill him! His objective was to get Cas back! He almost dive bombed into a garage to do that, so how could have this happened? How could he have turned Cas into that? 

Just a husk, a living body but everything else. The most important part, the only part worth anything, dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. 

Dean killed Death, it shouldn’t be able to do anything to him anymore. Death should no longer affect him, ever! 

Yet Cas was, Cas- 

Dean flew up and up, until the wind whisked him away. He started at the sky, the big empty sky,and watched his memories of Cas sink down into the frozen void that crept out of the empty shell that once housed his friend and into him. 


	15. Let's Make a Deal

Dean didn’t want to wake up. 

He remembered exactly why he didn’t want to wake up. What he didn’t want to see. What he knew he wouldn’t see. He knew what it would feel like. He knew that sleeping was in his best interest. Sleeping may be filled with nightmares, but at least he could tell himself that they aren’t real. That maybe things might, maybe, perhaps, be different when he woke up.

Yet once he woke up, how could he deny it? How could he escape the truth? His every own actions?

But there was this _nag_. This tug that wouldn’t go away. At first, completely ignored and Dean forced the energy in his soul to keep him down under, ignoring the actual emotions causing his soul to meltdown, since alcohol doesn’t work anymore. But no, the nag got stronger. Stronger, all tugging at him slightly different, and it wouldn’t stop and even in his nightmares he could feel it. Tugs that elbowed their way into him, and reality slipped back in. Cruel, brutal reality. 

Dean, battling to do the opposite, opened his eyes, the nightmare, Cas drowning in a red sea, dissipated into the night sky. The rocky mountain top he landed some, ever, ago under him. The snow all around him melted, revealing the rock around him. Scattered craters when he stayed awake a little too long. 

“Stop it!” The tugs yanked at him, and it felt like Cas. It felt like the last thing Cas ever did, how Cas pulled at him to come, and how Dean was too late. “STOP!” 

Dean exploded, again, light and heat encasing him. He shook it off, suppressing it faster and kept it small enough to really only melt a good chuck of snow, but the exposed rock crumbled as Dean launched in the air. He took flight, aiming for the tug so he could silence them. He had no control of the violent energy running rampant in his body, not without- He couldn’t get himself together, but it was fine on mountains. At least he couldn’t hurt anyone else. 

At least he couldn’t burn any more people. Killing-

The air streaked past him, maybe would have seared his skin if his soul wasn’t so everywhere. Maybe physics made the air hot as he streaked by, maybe his soul burned the air around him. Cas knew how hot his soul could burn, as it was the last thing he probably ever figured out. 

Damnit! If he had just been more careful, then Cas might try to be flying upside so he could watch the stars. Or maybe they’d be racing, Dean would so be winning. Yet maybe Cas abuse physics to pull ahead, and now Dean had to deal with knowing Cas’s owl wings out fly his. Maybe, he doesn't know much about wings; he planned to do some research on it when the got back to the Bunker.

I’m sorry Dean, but could you take lead again? I’m finding it strenuous trying to fly after that meal, and my wing shape isn’t making it easier. I’ll take the lead again . . . 

Dean flapped hard behind him, shoving the memories out with the wind. The echo of Cas’s voice far, far behind him, and hopefully will stay away. Cas died, burned away from his own soul, and Dean can’t exactly burn himself too. 

The nags yanked at him and pulled at him. Dean pressed his lips together as his heart thumped harder. These yanks, wherever and whoever’s causing them, better be ready for Dean. He could very easily imagine himself doing whatever it takes to silence them. Not when heat and energy seep out of him with very little control. All he hoped was that he could direct it, get his point across to not disturb him- that nobody could afford him leaving his solitude- without hurting anyone. 

He should’ve burned out by now, would've made things easier, though Dean doesn’t know enough on how his soul works to say when that should’ve happened. Yet, he hasn’t gotten hungry nor thirsty, he’s flying with all the energy he can pump into his wings, and he exploded a couple of times on the mountain. Granted, not huge explosions, but he just couldn’t contain everything anymore. It all wanted out, and it was really hard to stop when he kinda wanted the same thing.

And Sam always thought alcohol was a bad way to cope. At least alcohol dimmed the emotions, now his emotions were literally out of his control. 

Although Cas would have had them under control. 

Stupid! Stupid feelings and stupid emotions! If he just had them under control to begin with, or asked Cas for helped despite how utterly embarrassing that would have been, none of this would have happened. They would still be in that town, hunting the vamps, probably wiped them out by now, and Cas would be flying by him as they headed home. 

But no, no Dean just had to go and screw it all up. 

So what if the occasional bout of affection seized him when he was around Cas? Dean knew his emotions were out of control, he knew they were more intense, he knew that. But oh no, Dean didn’t even try to control them or do anything except hide from them, run away whenever one happened to rise. 

Maybe he didn’t want to think about why the affection he gets- got- around Cas differed than the ones around Sam or Mom or Jack. Cas was his family, he has been for years, and some burst of emotions shouldn’t have changed that. Yeah, the whole wings and soul thing forced them to practically stay by each other’s sides, strange but no big deal. He should've been able to deal with it.

Cas was family, Dean should want him to stay around, want to be around him. He should depend on him. He should go to Cas when things go to shit because that’s what family does. Well, he should have. He should have also been there for Cas, and yet, that couldn’t have been further from the truth. All the things he just fucking messed up. 

He would have been there for Sam, wouldn’t have let anything happen to Sam or Jack or Mom.Though with Michael’s stupid grace emphasizing the littlest things, Dean opted out. Choose to stay away, keep distance whenever the strange feeling came up. If only it could have been normal, if only it was like the other emotions he got when around people. Yet this one had to special, and that ruined everything. 

Perhaps, since Dean only allowed Cas to touch his wings and soul, that caused things to be different. Caused different reactions in him. Without Cas, Dean had no means to groom his wings or control his soul. That the affection thing stemmed from necessity, which ultimately got Cas killed by the very thing desiring to protect him. 

That had to be one of the cruelest acts the universe could do. 

Or maybe. . . 

Gravity sucked him down, his wings faltering in the air. The nag yanked viciously at him, abusing his floundering concentration, and Dean seethed at what could be so relentless and torturous, until he finally took note of what direction he flew off in. East. Which would be the rough direction of where the Bunker is. 

He scowled and pushed harder. His brother should know better than this. Dean’s volatile, a danger, a poison gilded with promise. Why’d Sam have to be so stubborn? Cas made sure Dean functioned, wasn’t some danger to others, and now that he’s gone, dead because of Dean, Dean might end up hurting or killing him.

His wings faltered again, and Dean struggled to keep flying forward. Rampant images of Sam’s face, eyes burned out and body limp, seared into brain. Kevin’s dying face reared back up, another death he couldn’t prevent. And this time, Dean would have to live that it wasn’t another entity, wasn’t some curse or anything, it would have been Dean’s own soul to murder his family. It wouldn't have been possession; it would've been him.

Dean would die if he couldn't control himself. There’s no way his heart could keep beating after that. 

He took a deep breath in, and Dean at least steadied his flying. The yanks lurched him forward, and despite how much Dean wanted to turn away after realizing who precisely was behind that call, it would be near maddening. He probably could fight it if his soul united against the force, yet that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Because even when all his soul boiled over with anger, a few larger carters on the mountain bore evidence to what happens. When Dean collapsed in sorrow, any water from the waves of heat pouring off him froze instantly. When Dean screamed to the skies, winds blasted snow miles away. When Dean seethed with failure, everlasting mortification at his own actions, that Dean could ooze out and goop over his skin. Even in the middle of his nightmares, where all those horrible emotions blurred, he always felt it. 

The coldness, the emptiness that latched onto him when he searched for Cas within his body. A nothingness that ripped out a chuck of him, what seemed like a whole half of him, and took up residence in him. Never budging as tornado after tornado of rage overtook him or waves of grief. No amount of screaming dimmed it, and its cold deadness expanded the moment he merely thought about walking into that vamp nest. 

If only freaking alcohol worked. Anything really. Anything to distract him of the loss. Anything to make him forget that Cas would never hold his head and soothe down everything getting out of hand. Anything to make him stop seeing his stupid blue eyes going from crinkled and happy to the crazed monstrous ones to the closed that will never open again. 

Hell, Dean would even feel better if he knew Cas at least existed. Whether in the Empty, Purgatory, or Heaven, Dean would freeze Hell if Cas was there, but to know that all traces of his best friend didn’t just vanish. That Dean, even if he was the one to force Cas out of this world, never wiped him away. 

But nothing, nothing could confirm that. Nothing existed with the ability to fill that void up, and Chuck seemed to be fine with letting Cas stay dead now. No more resurrections, not until Jack got the juice to call for him in the Empty, if Cas was in the Empty. Dean figured he couldn’t do it himself, not when he called out for Cas incessantly the first day. Surely that would have had an effect if it could work. 

One more chance, this was supposed to be their last chance at a life. There was no world ending disaster that loomed in the distanced, this was supposed be their chance to make everything safe. Maybe take a fucking vacation to some secluded beach, hell, their very own island. Cas could finally, after suffering on this planet for over a decade, might enjoy the nicer things without the threat of certain death unless they toiled against it. 

Maybe Dean could get him drunk, and it would be fun since the apocalypse wasn’t about to set fire to half the world. He pegged Cas as the type of drunk who laughs at everything, and even the smallest things become fascinating as if figuring them out all over again. He didn’t see Cas being loud, maybe just whatever it is that keeps his shoulders always so tense to wash away. 

Dean’s eyes burned, the tears never falling, and the impossible future fell away. That stupid cold froze it, and Dean screeched. He could see the Bunker, the black and white cubed building standing out. He could see the Bunker where Sam surely kept Cas in. The body that was just in his eyes, smiling and laughing as his wings shone even brighter than Baby in the sun, lifeless on some bed or something. 

Dean dived down, teeth throbbing under the pressure of his jaw. Anything! Anything at all to have that! Dean would chop off his wings, trade away his soul, bargain with their Michael still trapped in the cage. Hell, Dean would donate Baby to the MythBusters even if he knew they were going to explode her. Just to have that. . . anything to have that. 

He angled it perfectly and tucked his head to his shoulder before ramming into the Bunker’s steel door. A huge clang, not nearly enough to rival his soul's outbursts, pulsed through the bunker as Dean perched on the railing. Red light bathed the map room and the hunters in it while the sirens started to wail. And the damned yanking from Sam finally ceased. The stupid yanking that brought him out of his slumber and forced him to deal with all this crap again. 

Dean shrieked, flaring his wings out and the lights flickered. The horrible sirens couldn’t match him, came nowhere close to the desperate and infuriated wail bursting out of his soul. Only his green glow lit the room until he forced the normal lights to blink back on and finally the sirens halted. How dare anything try to best him in his grief, his cries.

Sam ran, coming from the library, staring up at him with shock rather than the horror seizing the other hunters. Dean stared at him, the railing liquefying under his hands, and Sam held it, lips tightening in some sort of stubbornness. A stubbornness that probably didn’t even think what his call would do to Dean. Inconsiderate bastard. 

With on sharp thrust of his wings, Dean launched across the room and twisted sharply on the table to continue to face Sam. His wings arched out behind him, on the verge of trembling with hate as much as they were on the verge on collapsing down and pleading with Sam to just let him go be alone. 

“Dean-” 

“Why am I here?” Dean remained on the table, slightly crouched, as his wings fluttered in an attempt to control his soul. “And be snappy about it, I’ve already exploded once since you woke me up.” 

Background hunters exchanged wide eyed glances, a few reaching behind them, but Sam merely started into the map room and gestured with his bandaged arm for him to follow. 

“I thought you might want to see this.” 

Dean glared at his back, but he jumped off the table regardless. A few minutes, he had to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone else for a few minutes and he could go back to his solitude. He will hear what Sam has to say and then leave for Sam’s own good. He could control himself for just a few minutes. 

Fighting to keep his wings tight against his back, when energy poured all throughout each feather, Dean followed Sam into the hallways. The lights flickered, and maybe Sam took sharp intake, but Dean couldn't tell once he realized where they were going: the medical ward. 

Cas’s body was in there, he had no doubt. Dean couldn’t see that. If he saw his friend, eyes closed permanently but his chest just so slightly lifting with every breath, he might hurt Sam. He needed to leave, right now. Doesn’t matter if Sam calls him again, Dean couldn’t live with his brother’s death on his hands. 

Yet his feet dragged after Sam, the lights barely staying on as Dean struggled to regulate his breathing. Damn near impossible with heart pounding and screaming that he needed to turn back, that this course of action would ruin him entirely. He wouldn't be able to control himself. He needed to leave. For his safety, for Sam's, for goddamn life in the Bunker, he needed to leave. 

But his feet trailed after Sam despite all that. 

Sam entered first, and finally his feet stopped, frozen in the doorway, as Dean stared at Cas. 

He looked so goddamn peaceful. Nothing like when his wings burned onto the ground or when he walked into a lake with Leviathans crawling inside him. Dean saw his chest raise, in the constantly repeating pattern of exhaling and inhaling, despite nothing in there to even be aware of it. A living a shell, his best friend burnt out by him. 

Why did he walk in? How could be so fucking stupid as to actually walk in? 

The tears still never fell, but icy waves of sorrow and desperation crashed over him. He wanted it to flood out of him, to release it, to push it away, but he strained to keep it in for the sake of his brother. Dean would not kill him, not him too, not under circumstances he could control. 

Seeing Cas though, knowing the emptiness inside him, spurred Dean’s own void. He choked on his own sorrow, the livid craze running through his muscles to fix this numbing down. He still trembled, and could barely get a grip on moving, but Dean could get through mostly sane- he had to stay in control of his soul. 

He rose back to his feet, unsure when he even collapsed to his knees, and kept his head down, very confident he’d break if he dared to look at Cas again. Even then, the image danced front of him. Taunting him of all the things that beating heart would never get to enjoy. 

“No need for dramatics Dean,” Dean briefly locked eyes with Rowena, stunned he missed her, before snapping his eyes to a wall bare instead of the bed Cas eternally rests in. “I have a solution to your problem.” 

Dean snorted, almost glaring over at Sam. “No dice. You get anywhere close to touching my soul and I’ll roast-” Dean swallowed- “There wouldn’t be anything left of you.” 

“N-n-no De-Dean,” Sam’s teeth chattered, and again his traitorous eyes almost looked to him where he would see Cas in the background. “C-Cas is-s-sn’t gone.” 

Fire flashed through his blood, and Dean struggled to keep it in. “Sam, I’ve been in there. There’s nothing!” 

“Oh, on the contrary, there is.” Rowena smirked at him when his eyes darted to her, then over to Cas’s resting form. “Incredibly faint and in a completely unconscious state, but your dear angel still lives.” 

“How?” Dean rushed towards her, squeezing her arms in a second’s notice and glaring. Energy pushed at his skin, leaked out of his feathers, charging the air. “How could you possibly know that?” 

She scoffed, striving to stay calm despite how close Dean’s throbbing soul is to her. “My spells aren’t so emotional as you, they can pick up what you were blind to in panic.” 

“Which is?” Dean yelled, her stupid vagueness striking a chaotic surge in his soul. Hope pushing down that void, and anything numb sprang back to life. Tentative and eager.

“He’s mist!” Her eyes glinted purple before pushing herself out of his grip, stumbling back. “He probably took a hit to his strength, but his angel soul doesn’t have anything to bind it together, it’s just a faint echo of him all throughout his body.” 

Dean’s arms froze, still in the place where he gripped onto Rowena, staring ahead at her but seeing Cas on that beach again. Yet this time it felt real, something tangible he could hold. That those midnight wings may glimmer in the stars once more. That he and Cas might lounge in the Bunker all day watching horror films. Hell, Dean would watch rom coms if that’s what Cas wanted to see. He could have it; it wasn’t just some impossible hope. 

“Do we know how to do that?” Dean looked back Sam, his face flushed and forehead sweaty, before staring at Cas, Cas who might wake up. That stupid faded light gray t-shirt won’t be what Cas dies in. 

Sam took a step forward, gesturing weakly to Cas. “We were hoping you might be able to. Rowena doesn’t know any magic of that might help and nothing in the library even gets close to being remotely helpful.” 

Dean stared at Cas, wings dropping. Dean might, theoretically, be able to stitch Cas back up. Yet Dean never even felt him when his entire soul went crazing trying to feel him. Then actually getting him together again? It might take months, maybe even a year, for Dean to pull that off. 

But, Dean perked up, someone out there may know. 

Or rather, someone up there may know. 

“I have an idea.” Dean made for the door, a plan blooming in mind and rippling out to his soul. “I could, maybe, fix Cas, but there’s got to be an angel left that knows this stuff. Or at the very least, some sort of celestial tome that might give me a clue.” 

“Whoa, hold Dean,” Sam followed Dean on his heels, “Didn’t Cas say the angels closed the portal? And even if it was open, it kills everything expect angels. Let’s think this through and-” 

“I’m infused with archangel grace, that’s good enough. And probably enough to force myself in.” Dean quickened, the lights glowing brightly above him, as he raced for the exit. 

“Dean! Just slow down and think!” 

“I’m tired of thinking!” Dean’s wings fluttered, speeding him up the steps. “I’m getting Cas back! That’s all that matters!” 

“Dean!” Sam yelled, his pace never increasing enough to catch Dean, and they ran over the door to the Bunker. “Please don’t be so rash! We have to make sure! At least try yourself before going to Heaven!” 

“That’d take too long!” Dean jumped after climbing the last step, barreling into the sky. “Be back soon!” 

Dean’s wings hurled him through the night sky. If he was merely desperate to get the Bunker to stop Sam from calling him, then now he flew as if hell was on his back. Stars and clouds blurred above him and Dean couldn’t even focus on the mash of gray fields and towns below him. 

This time he knew the air burned around him. Yet nothing could dare even try to rival the sheer hope blasting through him. The only thing that remained was a pinch of fear that this may not work out how he wants it, but that’s simply a time issue. Cas would be waking up, even if it takes a decade to make him open his eyes, he will wake up. 

For the first time, Dean wished he had his phone. He wanted to call Mom and Jack, he wanted to hear them laugh as he told them. Just imagining it planted a huge smile on his face, the telegraphed joy from them would be blessed. A win. After such a huge loss from the vamps, after they tried so hard to break them, they were the victors. Not some gangly monsters. 

The angels might prove to be an obstacle, Dean had no trust in them to do anything if they didn’t get some gain and he can’t threaten them. As easy as he could, Cas told him about the danger if any more angels are killed. That all the souls fall down to earth, a ghost apocalypse on their hands before you could say ‘Holy Hell’. 

Perhaps Dean could bargain with his soul’s excess energy or yell at them if Cas dies then they have one less angel keeping Heaven running. With Cas’s tank virtually empty all the time, Dean doubted they could afford to lose him. Regardless, Dean will extract everything he needs to wake Cas up. 

He couldn’t stop the giddy laugh that slipped out of him, simply imagining Cas blink back to life. Watching his pupils quickly constrict in the sudden light, his blue irises radiating in the light, until his eyes adjusted properly to the light. 

Maybe he wouldn’t remember what happened either, although Cas undoubtedly would ask if that were the case, but the dork probably just stare at him confused at why he was back in the Bunker. Ask if Jack was alright, probably be horrified to learn what he did, but it wouldn’t matter. Cas would be alive and no one got hurt and those vamps might already be long gone. 

Taking a deep breath in the racing wind, Dean held himself in check. This spiraled way out of control, and setting his expectations so high would, as all his past experiences warn him about, lead to disaster. So it might not be great when Cas wakes up, he might be a little dazed or have holes in some places, but ultimately, he just needed to wake up. 

And first off, he needed to talk to the angels. 

Dean had absolutely no clue how to address them, it’s not as if he knew their names like Cas, and calling them by the extremely accurate title ‘dicks with wings’ probably wouldn’t go over too well. Hopefully, Dean might just steal something and keep conversations to a minimal. 

What if the angels know he’s coming? Dean scrapped that thought almost as soon as he had it. They didn’t know Gabriel was alive after Lucifer supposedly killed him. And they didn’t send an angel to peek down when Dean’s angel-self came into existence. Maybe they checked with Cas on angel radio, but Cas spent a large amount of time out of mojo and unconscious that first day after they met up with Dean. 

Still, Dean failed to come up with a way to approach the angels. Politeness never really applied to Dean, as all the social etiquette stuff just seemed like a huge time waster. Sam usually took over if something delicate, conversational wise, needed to be addressed. Part of the reason he liked Cas, since the dude lacks the understanding of tacit. Not that Cas was usually rude about it, but there was no beating the bush, Cas said it and that was that. 

Dean grinned, recalling the more recent times when Cas understood his brusque communication might not be appropriate. The thousand years plus angel hesitating and struggling on deciding the best way to continue. Dean admitted how he probably should help him out, but really, when opportunities to watch the most composed guy he knows fumble with basic human things, well, Dean had to watch. 

Losing himself to the memories, Dean stopped noticing the stars and ground, letting his wings and soul function on autopilot. Memories buzzed and replayed over and over as he soared miles and miles, as these aren’t the last memories. Cas will wake up. 

He snapped out of it when his wings surged as his eyes focused in on a small town in the distance. His heart staggered, so close, he was so close. He made record time getting here, at least a fourth of the four-hour drive in the Impala, and Dean hurried to get there. While it may have been his soul-grace powers that caused this whole mess, Dean loved how fast he could travel at full throttle. 

The air whizzed by as he started to dive down. A green comet, maybe some scientist concluded that instead of a glowing birdman, a few meteors that burned green in the atmosphere. Dean couldn’t fly in the day and there was no chance of dimming his soul, so hopefully that happens. 

Careful not to hit the trees or the playground, Dean landed near the sand box. He almost faceplanted, he was just so close to getting Cas up, but thankfully his wings and soul-grace knew what they were doing. 

Dean, unsure of what else to do, stepped inside. Promptly, nothing happened. Damn angels closed the portal, didn’t Cas say that? Doesn’t matter, Dean just had to find a to pry the doors open. Archangel grace infused with his soul, surely Dean could do this. 

Drawing the energy pulsing down his wings, he it pushed into his hands. Since Plan A was to see if he could, almost literally, pry the doors open. His hand glowed, first green, but as the green swirled around his arm, like a liquid gravitating to him rather than down, the light directly against his skin shone white. Maybe with a goldenish hue.

Humming when the light didn’t sting his eyes at all, Dean crouched and pressed his hands into the center of the complex sigil in the sand. The lines emitted power, a tingle that shivered Dean’s arms,revealing that there was something here for Dean to work with. 

With one deep breath, Dean push all his energy into it. Distantly, he knew his wings thrashed in the air and muscles all over tensed up. Yet all that he was aware of funneled into the sigil, examining how it connected up to Heaven. To Dean, it felt like a celestial slingshot. The outer part seemed to break apart whatever entering and condense it, whereas the middle would send a beam straight through the pearly gates. 

Probably why anything other than an angel dies going through. 

He poured most of his energy first into powering up the middle, the hum of it growing stronger. Dean may have noticed the sand spike up in certain spots as bright lights leaked out into the air. The line to Heaven, the portal-ly part, grew thicker and something that Dean had to trust everything was working. So Dean spared a moment to let out a small sigh, this sigil obviously wasn't meant to be powered by an outsider, it took some massive power to get its battery’s going. 

Or perhaps it only felt that way since Dean hasn’t exactly been taking care of himself over the past. . . three days? Maybe four? Five? 

Steeling himself with one big breath, he shoved another significant chuck of his soul-grace and braced himself. His skin instantly burned, he couldn’t see and what the heck happened to his wings? Everything muddled together and a liquid, but not quite liquid either, surrounded him. It almost seemed like he was stuck, compared to the electrifying jolt the Purgatory portal gave him, yet a sixth sense verified something pulling at him. He wanted to say up, but Dean couldn’t quite tell. 

Then everything rushed back in as the liquid stuff spat him out. He stumbled, his legs there but not really connected to him as wings brushed against smooth walls. He felt nauseous and concussed, like he just took the world’s worst plane ride, and struggled to get himself in order. His limbs ached, the part of him not angel took a huge beating to get up here, but he forced his knees under him and- 

“Dean Winchester.” A stuck-up voice- Dean bit back the growl his soul vibrated with- sighed. “Why am I not surprised?” 

“Naomi.” Dean heaved up and stayed firm on two feet, even if his sight swam and he couldn’t glare properly at the angel-demon. “I have to admit, you were one angel I really hoped bit the dust.” 

Naomi hummed, her and the three figures around her wavered into existence. “Amusing you didn’t hurtle yourself up here simply to insult me, you should attempt to respect me to get what you want.” 

“Oh please, I’ve dealt with demons to gods.” Dean scowled, “Somehow, even without the respect thing, I still get what I want.” 

Despite the urge to arch his wings out, Dean worked to keep his wings at his back, even if they puffed out a bit in sheer anger. The politeness thing totally flew out the window, this angel didn’t deserve it. Especially with the cold and annoyed expression Dean now could see on her. 

The white-haired vessel, still in a pristine suit, sighed. “This is about Castiel, isn’t it? I can assure you he isn’t dead, so you can stop screeching about it over angel radio.” 

“I never-” Dean took a measured breath, filed away that information for later, and regarded Naomi with a level stare. “I know that now, I’m here to wake him up.” 

Naomi glanced to the other angels, who put away their blades and wandered off through the endless halls of Heaven, and gestured him to follow. “Why is he under? Castiel is still producing grace, so I fail to see what the problem may be. Perhaps his vessel slipped into a coma and now you’re here wasting our time.” 

“Are you aware of how much a douche bag you are? Or are you so self-centered you can’t even see that?” Dean huffed, keeping his wings still an increasingly difficult task, but followed behind her and kept note of where they were going. 

“I’m trying to help you-” Dean stuck his tongue out at her back. “-so respect please.” 

Dean groaned, rolling his eyes. “Cas is in some sort of mist state, not really there even if he’s alive. I need to know how to stitch him up and we can stop this awful conversation.” 

“Well at least we agree on something.” Naomi rounded a corner, her voice so uninterested that Cas is stuck in a state of not-really-dead-but-not-really-alive that he wanted to throttle her and make her understand the importance of this. Cas needed to wake up, needs to wake up now. 

They entered through a door and Naomi promptly sat behind the desk, elbows on the table and fingers pressed together. She regarded him with icy stare, as if he were some raccoon that solely existed to annoyed her, and not the most immoral businessman in Heaven or Hell could match her utter apathy. 

“So,” Naomi continued, and after the portal soaked up so much of sheer energy, Dean kept himself from getting glowy eyes. “I will activate the portal and come with you to fix-” 

“Oh hell no.” Dean crossed his arms, wings flicking back in pure disgust at the mere thought of travelling with _her_ and having _her_ get anywhere close to Cas and letting _her_ reach into his soul again and screw him all up. Yeah, oh hell no. “Just tell me what I need to know, so we can part ways and never see each other again.” 

Sighing, and oh did Dean want to punch off the annoyance she didn’t even bother to hide, Naomi bent down and lifted an object up. Pen-like, but way too thick for that, and sleek with a long tube extending out the back and connecting it to something. It seemed innocent, but alarm bells clanged as red flags waved with more passion than an elite Color Guard. 

“I shouldn’t need more equipment than this, not when Castiel doesn’t have any grace to protect himself with, but-” 

“No!” Dean’s wings flared out, remembering what that thing looked like, what that thing is. “You aren’t getting anywhere close to Castiel with that.” 

Dean glared at her, the hot stirrings of anger draping over his skin and he remembered. He fucking remembered recusing that Weiner Hut angel, the horrible device Crowley hooked up on him. Cas’s utter and horrifying break down at simply hearing the machine that this angel used on him. A machine that almost forced Castiel to kill him and this this bitch thinks he will let her on Earth with that torture tool. 

Dean would rather wait years trying to figure out how to wake up Cas himself. 

Her face dropped slightly in a sigh, eyes glazing over with boredom as if he was some stupid child who refused to stop throwing a temper tantrum. “What do you purpose then? Since I need some way to enter Castiel and directly-” 

“I know how to do that, there’s no reason for you to go down to Earth.” Dean fists tightened and wings spasmed, every drop of willpower going into not punching her in the face. “I just need to know how to put him back together.” 

“He’ll do so naturally, although it make take a century or two to collect his thoughts again without his grace, but I highly doubt you could possibly-” 

“What do you want?” Dean shouted, throwing his arms out. “Tell me! Because I know you aren’t doing this because you like Cas and I want to know your little ulterior motivation.” 

She glared at him back, impossibly sitting up straighter at the desk. “Wings or no, Dean Winchester, I’d be very careful if I were you. Or you’ll be out of here before getting anything.” 

Dean smirked at her, and with a snap, pointed up to the ceiling. “Funny how you’d want me to leave so soon. I heard Heaven couldn’t really keep the lights on, but I haven’t seen them flicker once since I’ve been here.” 

Naomi perfect temple fingers collapsed together into a fist and she let out a pinched sigh with eyes closed. “Damn you Castiel.” 

“So, if you’re done toying with me as if I’m some child, how about some respect and tell me what I need to know.” 

The glare, the helpless infuriated glare, almost made Dean as smug as hell. The fact of the matter still remained though, since he had no way to wake Cas up and he already lost some self-control dealing with Naomi. 

“I’ll tell you what you need to know,” Naomi took a measured breath. “Yet it is up to you on executing it. My one condition is that you send up your excess energy up here at the end of every day.” 

Dean glared at her, though he honestly thought that wasn’t the worst deal he expected her to make. “I don’t know how to do that, and I’m sure you’d be sucking me dry if you could.” 

“Castiel would need to be awake to do it. Although Heaven could feel your power when your soul merged with archangel grace, yet since its nature closely resembles that of a soul, we never could detect it afterwards nor ‘suck you dry’, as you so elegantly put it.” Naomi sighed again, and Dean seethed at how she still acted as if he was some child. Something so far down beneath her that he wasn't worth the effort to make eye contact. 

What did she know? How to torture angels? Meanwhile Dean has saved the world from every different type of threat it gets thrown at it. She has nothing on him. How dare she think herself so fucking mighty and righteous. 

“Fine,” Dean narrowed his eyes at her, “And I’ll even give you extra on the condition Cas keeps some of his grace. Don’t bother giving me the whole spiel that there’s none to spare, because he couldn’t stop the vamps turning him. So he keeps enough for that never to be an issue again.” 

“It’ll barely be anything. Castiel will still have to eat and sleep to maintain his vessel to keep that level of grace.” 

“Fine.” 

“Other weapons besides an angel blade may kill him if given time.” 

“Fine.” 

“It won’t possibly be enough-” 

“You can make excuses all day long and nothing changes.” Dean crossed his arm, scowling. “In fact, you don’t agree to my condition, once I get Cas together, I’ll remove his grace. Since he practically human anyway.” 

Naomi’s lips tightened. “That’s a death sentence for an angel.” 

“Well Cas isn’t exactly an ordinary angel, I bet I’ll even get his blessing.” Dean shrugged. “Besides, I can heal him from any diseases or old age thing. Since I’ll have the extra juice to provide it. I’m only here ‘cause it gets Cas up quicker, but by no means do I actually need you.” 

Dean dropped his arms and walked up to the desk, leaning over his hands as he glared down at Naomi. “So, if you don’t me how to wake him up, not only do you not get anything, but you lose one of your precious batteries. If I were you, I’d be coughing up any secrets you have on stitching angels.” 

Naomi looked murderous, her stoic face not nearly as composed as Cas’s- although Cas is much more human than this bitch- and slowly let out a breath. Dean smirked at her as she leaned back in her chair, retreating from Dean, and he stood up properly too. 

“What happened to Castiel was that something broke the inner most part of him, it happened to me before the angels fell.” Naomi’s lips barely moved, every muscle on her face as tense as it could be. “For his thoughts to recollect, for his being to resemble, they have to be bundled up together in a unique way, Castiel’s way.” 

She held up a hand, stopping the question on his lips. “No, I don’t know what that would be for Cas, my thoughts grouped together of similar purpose, but I can tell you it’s like a puzzle. Some pieces will connect in a way that’s obvious while some might gravitate to where they need to be, and you’ll have to figure out the rest. And since I don’t expect you to have it done perfectly, know that Cas may have holes in his memories as he recovers.” 

She paused and continued to glare at him. He held it, minutes dragging on and on, frustration forcing more and more pressure on his resolve. He needed to know how to heal Cas, but she wasn’t saying anything else and Dean decided that she decided to make this as difficult as possible. Because of course she would. 

“Well, are you going to drag this out longer or get this over with so I can leave?” 

“When you try to initially connect to Cas, I recommend slipping inside him instead of trying to work on the outside. I suspect that will easier, especially for a novice, to first start to detect thoughts and memories.” 

“And. . . ?” 

Naomi sighed, and for a moment she actually looked slightly remorseful. “There’s nothing more to it. This is an art-” Dean snorted- “and not an exact science.” 

Okay, now Dean really wanted to punch her. After coming all the way up here for that? Dean almost wanted to tell her off. But what the hell, he’d give it a shot. The worst that happens just means she won’t be getting any extra juice. 

“Fine,” Dean whirled around and marched out the door. “But you can’t get anything from me ‘til Cas wakes up!” 

Dean stomped through the pristine hallways of Heaven, feeling like this place was much more like some huge office rather than paradise. Although, what about Heaven has ever resembled more than a household of children throwing a fit about who runs the house now that daddy’s gone? 

Grateful he kept track of how they wandered through the hallways, Dean ended up in front of the door that led him here. He didn’t see any other angels passing by, probably for the best since he wasn’t very happy with their kind at the moment, and Dean didn’t hesitate to go through that door and leave the barren place. 

The way down didn’t quite wrench him out of sorts, barely. This time he braced for it, and his anger kept him distracted from the liquid stuff oozing around him. He particularly didn’t want to think if that was his body, melted down so it could be brought back down to Earth, and chose to push it from his mind when the portal spit him out onto the grass. 

The sand rose in sharp spikes in a perfect circle, the center glowing a bright ball of white, before the whole thing just collapsed, just like that. Dean supposed Naomi might have activated the portal for his trip down and promptly switched it off before he can go back up and demand more. Not that Dean ever wanted to see her face ever again. 

Dawn seemed to be approaching. The dark night sky no longer so dark as a touch of gray lightened the black. Dean didn’t wait to jump back into the air, though he almost faltered without the sheer power of his soul-grace stuff to launch him up. Shit, finally get some answers for Cas, and now it might take a while to get back to the Bunker. 

But the stab of disappointment couldn’t keep Dean down. He had _something_. And since he actually cared about Cas, hopefully thought that he could get him up and running faster than Naomi could hope to. He’s actually going to pour his whole soul into the problem, not disinterested obligation. 

Granted, while Dean expected more from the angels, this was probably better than nothing. This was something that could work.

God, he hoped so. 


	16. Prep up

Dean had a much worse landing.

With way too much momentum when he tried to plant his feet, he stupidly didn’t even try to walk forward. All his upper body, wings included, flipped right over. His shoulders whammed into the ground, and Dean imagined this would be the perfect opportunity for the comic book ‘Wham!’ to appear, until his wings flopped down with the rest of him.

Groaning, there must be so much dirt in his feathers now, Dean struggled to sit up. The ache in his shoulder persisted much longer than he would’ve liked, numbing out and then healing slowly. His soul-grace, as he learned very quickly on the return trip, wasn’t the infinite pool of energy that can satisfy every need that he has been living off of for the last few days.

Probably inevitable, what with the lack of sleep, and food, and when was the last time he had water? Can’t remember, hasn’t been that important though. No matter, it was all worth it for figuring out how to get Cas up. He just needed to power through a bit longer and his best friend would be up.

Dean smiled and wobbled on his feet, almost falling down the stairs into the Bunker. Cas hasn’t even seen Hatchet Man. Halloween hasn’t happened yet, Dean thinks so anyway, so they gotta be still playing the movie somewhere. Probably. He’d have Sam buy the movies if not, and pie. Pie, movies, and a bunch of other crap.

His wings trailed limply behind him, so much dirt and dust getting in them, but that’s fine. Cas will be up soon and he can groom them. Dean grabbed and leaned on the doorway into the Bunker, the door itself still on the ground, before pushing himself in. He just had to power through until he got Cas awake, he could do that. For Cas.

Cas would be warm, but like, awake and warm when Dean had to lay on him. If Dean were to hear his heartbeat again, it would be accompanied with open eyes. How nice, a very nice thing. A thing that definitely trumped slowing down.

Dean stumbled down the metal stairs, the clangs loud and deafening in the air, but Dean’s wings fluffed out and mostly held him up. Still, Dean’s legs somehow forgot about the added weight to his back and fumbled side to side as he continued down.

Almost glad for the hallways now, Dean extended his wings to keep them pressed up against the wall. His feathers dragged over the stone walls, the painful scratch of them almost had him snapping them back. Though, call him pessimistic, but Dean had no faith in his legs to walk forward and keep balance.

“Dean!” Sam’s shout came from behind, “Hey, wait up!”

Dean turned, wavered, and slumped on a wall. He threw a sloppy smile at his brother, chuckling as Sam’s duplicate blur into one as he focused one him. “Sammy! Angels were kinda a dud, but I found something that might-”

Dean trailed off, beating his wings lightly as his legs wobbled beneath him. It was fine though. Just, probably not completely fine, but Dean was fine enough to get Cas up. That was the important thing. Get Cas up and Dean could sleep ‘til the next full moon.

“Dean, Dea you’re not-” Sam’s words were swimming, swimming in the air, rising up and down in volume, swimming, swimming, swimming. “-rest. Cas can wait.”

“No!” Dean pushed him up, the air slouching around him and he sharply shook his head. He had to get his thoughts straight, and with that, Dean started walking forward again. Cas needed to be up days ago. “I can get him up, I just need to-”

“Stop it Dean, get a hold of yourself!” Sam, somehow without touching them, reached through his wings and grabbed his shoulder. “You can’t help Cas like this. Give it a break and attack it in the morning.”

“Off!” With a sharp flap of his wings, Dean half-ran half-stumbled into the ward. He kept thrashing his wings to keep Sam away, and blamed that when his balance wavered dangerously.

He purposely fell onto Cas, and grabbed his stupid serene face with both hands and- and-

Damnit! He couldn’t push in!

He tried to get that stirring, a swell of energy that always forced him to calm down in order to control it. Yet nothing came. Maybe a mere fume, something to make acknowledge he had it, but it wouldn’t go in! He needed it to go in! Stupid, stupid soul!

“Dean!” Sam grabbed onto his forearms, but Dean would not lift his head to the other side of the bed. He could do this, he just needed to want it hard enough. “Listen, you can’t do anything in this state. For gosh sake’s Dean, your eyes aren’t even glowing.” 

“I have to!”

“You can’t!”

“I-” Dean pushed, oh he pushed with everything he could, but his body sagged under him with the effort and he barely got a faint ripple.

Dean let his head fall on Cas’s chest, fist forming on his friend’s shoulders. The endless _tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump_ drummed softly in ears, a horrible reminder bouncing in his skull. He couldn’t get Cas up. If only he hadn’t sulked for so long on that mountain, he would’ve had enough.

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump._

“I’ll get you something to eat.”

Sam walked off, in pace with the _tha-thumps_ , and Dean heard his steps fade away. He heard his faint murmuring and then a pinched, and loud, sigh from Rowena. Dean didn’t bother to adjust himself or make himself comfortable, the thought didn’t even cross his mind. He just wanted Cas awake.

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump._

Maybe Dean has gotten greedy, Cas came back from the died just as much he and Sam, maybe he was greedy for wanting to wring out another laugh from the tense angel.

_Tha-thump._

Maybe Dean should count his blessings. He knew Cas will wake up at some point, some long off point, so Cas wasn’t dead. So what if he wasn’t awake to be with Dean now? So what if they couldn’t mess around and do nothing all day until then? So what if Dean missed him?

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump._

The dry tears burned again, and Dean bundled the t-shirt up in his fist. So what if Dean missed him? So what if Dean wanted to groom those fucking beautiful wings, which were so impossibly soft compared to his, and watch Cas squirm then relax like getting a great ass massage? So what if Dean wanted to, silently, laugh at the dork as he wolfed down sandwiches as if Chuck made the simple snack divine?

So what if he craved for Cas to touch his wings again? So what if never wanted to wake up apart from Cas now that he knew how much better it was to have his friend right there? So what if Dean needed to say a million things before the bastard died again? So what if this might be his stupid soul just making things a bigger deal? Why would that matter when they were still all true?

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump._

Dean pressed his head to Cas’s chest, the next heartbeat resonating in his skull, and relaxed his grip. Dean felt dry wetness in his eyes, burning him, and yet they stay in him. Dean just took a deep sigh and closed them, listening to every _tha-thump_ his friend’s heart made.

Dean held onto each one, each _tha-thump_ , because each one brought him closer to the one that will happen as Cas opens his eyes.

_Tha-thump._

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump._

Dean dragged his head up with a sigh, eyelids slowly doing their job and blinking to see stuff again. His body, abused and neglected, ached. Dean certainly woke up most days like this, hungry and sore, although Dean usually prides himself that this means some monster now lies dead, since being captured usually involves a fierce pain along with some sort of stab.

Now, as his unstretched muscles strained to lift him even though he failed his mission yesterday. Just get into Cas, like all the times he’s done it before. Dean might not have expected Cas to bolt awake first try, Dean knew very well by now nothing in his life just happens so easily, but Dean needed to get the first try out of the way so by the time the second try came around, he would know a few things to make that try successful.

But no, his soul decided to check out the very moment he had the opportunity to finally start, to finally fix things. Fuck, he was so goddamn close.

Sighing, Dean rubbed his face and glanced down at Cas. After weighing his options of if he should try again, he had the awareness to realize he didn’t have a whole lot in his engine, he reached out towards Cas again. Maybe he couldn’t do anything, but he could try, maybe figure something out.

“Oh and what do you think you’re doing?”

Dean sighed at the witch who just walked in, hand ghosting over Cas’s stubble before he turned to face her. Standing up and glaring at her, covering up the aches in his tendons and muscles, and his wings tensed despite the limbs sprawling out in a relaxed, way-too-tried-to-move over the bed and ground.

Rowena sighed at his silence, sharply shaking her head. “You poor ignorant boy, have you not thought of the problems of trying to fix someone’s very being when you yourself are teetering between control and chaos.” She sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Of course you didn’t, you’re Dean Winchester. Always ready throw yourself into the fire, Dean Winchester.”

Dean rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Okay, if you’re such a master then, why haven’t you fixed him yet?”

“I don’t have the proper magical ability to work with a pure being in such a way. Sure, there are certain spells that burn away a person’s soul, but smart witches stay away from anything that can potentially harm their soul.” She gave a thin, perfect smile, and Dean scoffed at her, hearing the silent accusation.

“So what? You propose I wait? That I just sit back and watch Cas’s body! Knowing that he won’t wake up until I do something about it!” Dean’s wings twitched, and he even wanted them to flare out, but the huge feather clad limbs struggled to rise.

“I suggest you eat, and perhaps drink something.” Rowena smirked at him before turning out the door. “A shower would also be advisable, especially for the sake of everyone else.”

Dean huffed, but he didn’t say a word. Once she left, he shook his head at the annoying witch. Sure, she might be doing good and all, but it felt like the sole reason she even came in here was if Dean was awake so she could annoy him. She was a witch, and witches have always been near the top of the list of what Dean finds disgusting.

Someone touching his wings though definitely took the top. That wasn’t disgusting, it was downright revolting.

With a quick shudder he won’t admit to anyone, Dean saw and grabbed the plate with a burger on the little table near Cas. Hopefully, nothing fell off his plate, like the fries, and someone put it back on, a lot of bloody bandages have been thrown on there. His soul would take care of anything, but apparently, he didn't have a lot of juice to spare.

The burger, which was cold, didn’t taste like anything. Yet the moment it entered his mouth and his brain got the signal it was edible, he wolfed it down. His stomach gurgled happily, and the absolutely disgusting cold and stale fries went down without a second thought. The water next to his plate? That didn’t last either, and Sam didn’t even bother to fill it up to the three quarter mark.

Dean threw a look over to Cas, his black wings somehow tucked tightly onto the twin bed with him and almost completely unmoving, before heading out of the room. It took about five or six steps until Dean noticed the plate shaking in his grasp. His white knuckles gripping the glass coming close to that point of a bit too much extra pressure that breaks the dish.

With one, maybe two, deep breaths, Dean relaxed his grip and kept walking. Maybe he could juice up his soul? Didn’t seem likely unless he got jumped with someone else’s soul, and no. Dean couldn’t do that. He’d just have to wait.

“Hey, Dean!” Sam rushed into the hallway behind him, and Dean reluctantly squeezed his wings together so his brother could stand next to him. “You seem. . .”

“Like I’m not about to explode?”

“Composed.” The two of them entered the kitchen, the hunter in there leaving instantly once they saw Dean. “You did sleep a bit, and I’m sure once you get some food in you, you could try with Cas.”

Dean set to work on washing the dishes, not caring if they had a dishwasher to do that. “Yeah, Rowena already stopped my first attempt.”

Sam hummed. “She said she was going to check on you, you were out for a while. She actually just left, said she wasn’t needed anymore and had things to do.”

He scrubbed the dishes until they were clean, then continued to scrub them. Rowena left, he actually felt kinda relieved about that one. She might have tried something with Cas, and he didn’t want that. Even if she thought Dean wasn’t up to par on magical healing and was totally confident with her abilities to help wake up Cas. Dean knew having an expert like her around would’ve been nice, but he couldn’t deny the stress that left his body now that she’s gone.

“Whatever, we don’t need her.”

“Dean, are you sure about that? You know what you’re doing with Cas?” Dean faced his brother then, looked at his painfully hopeful but unsure face. Sam wanted Cas up too, that was obvious, but he still had his concerns.

“I have a plan, might take me a few tries, but I’ll get it done.” Dean turned around again, drying his clean cup and plate before setting them both down. “Anything good in here?”

“Alexander, he’s the one who likes making the different kinds of bullets, bought a few Costco Mac n’ Cheeses earlier, probably some of that left.” Sam cleared his throat while Dean opened the fridge to pull that out, not his first choice, but Dean couldn’t find it in him to be picky. “So what did the angels tell you anyway?”

Dean groaned, scooping the cold cheesy noodles onto his plate. “They were a pain. That bitch Naomi is running the show, and the one I had to talk to, since she had a similar ‘breach of grace’ or whatever she said.”

The microwave creaked and quietly clanged as Dean shoved his contents insides, the little whirl noise filling the silence as Dean stared at it. Didn’t they have an argument right here? Warming up leftovers from the other hunters after right Dean had a bit of a euphoria high, but Cas closed it up so quickly but then Dean pried just a too little much that the two shared their most awkward dinner, seeing as it was one of the very few dinners they’ve shared where the both of them had to eat. What was even the point of that?

“Dean?”

The microwave beeped, and Dean shook the thoughts out as he pulled out his food. “Uh, yeah, so I’ll have to donate some of my soul energy every day once Cas wakes up. But they told me that I have to go into Cas, like his very being into, and then put his thoughts back together like some sort of puzzle.”

“Sounds. . . difficult.” Sam hesitated, and when Dean glanced up to his brother, saw the worry dancing in his eyes and face. “Can you handle it? Those aren’t exactly instructions.”

“I’ve worked with less before.” Dean shoveled the food into his face, his wings fluttering at the new food he was consuming, but he paused for a spilt moment. “How’s Jack and Mom? Taken care of the vamps?”

Sam frowned and nodded; the gesture so vague it told him nothing until Sam spoke. “The backup hunters, about five of them, arrived about two days ago, and they’re all being super cautious. So far, they’ve located all their hunting spots and stopped them from getting anyone else at the very least. Ketch is with them with them, and they’re devising a sort of EMP trap to knock them out.

“Mom and Jack were both relieved when I told them Cas will wake up, just slower than expected, and you’d be on that. So they don’t really know that you even thought he died, I figured unless they needed to know, they didn’t have to. They asked to keep them posted, but I haven’t really wanted to call them in case they might be in a tense time.”

Dean nodded, glad those slimy bastards will feel the wrath of their little family, and while he wished to be there, he was satisfied that they would all die as he healed the person they tried to turn against them. He must listen to that story when Mom and Jack get back, hell, maybe even throw a feast.

Hopefully they don’t expect such a celebration came from a huge swing out of. . . well, grief.

Grief, the mere word grew some sort of fungus in his stomach, and he definitely didn’t want to eat anymore. It felt fuzzy, not the totally warm fuzzy, but also not totally disturbing. He didn’t want to say he grieved, not when Dean’s attitude against this sort of thing was just plough through with women and booze, but Cas’s loss, even if not totally true, gnawed at him more than he could possibly handle.

It has been a long time since Dean felt such a desperation, a willingness to chuck anything to the wind to save Cas. If it wasn’t for the fact demons can’t enter the Empty, and Billy’s “what’s dead stays dead” motto, he didn’t think he could pull it off. He just had to sit there with the fact he lost his best friend, he wasn’t there to protect him, because he was feeling awkward.

Dean, if Sam never called him, would never had been able to come out of that.

Dean cleared his throat, reopening the fridge to put his leftovers in it. “Uh, so, I never said thanks for dragging me here. So, thanks.”

"How heartfelt.”

Throwing a glare past his wings, which bristled at Sam’s comment, he just slammed the fridge door and-

“But I get it Dean. I don’t blame you for freaking, or running off, especially when you said you were literally exploding with all your emotions.” His brother smiled, maybe pitiful, but mostly empathetic, and the words died on Dean’s tongue.

“Maybe it’s a good thing my soul is a little tired, gets my head clear.” Dean refilled his glass, draining the contents like a big shot of whiskey.

Sam huffed quietly, “We can agree there, it’s nice to see you back.”

Dean shrugged and strolled past Sammy, heading back towards the medical ward. “Now before we get into anything really chick-flicky, I need a power a nap. Then I whip Cas right up and maybe we’ll even finish those Harry Potter movies.”

“Uh Dean,” Sam swallowed when Dean faced him, feathers rustles at the thought that something else happened and- “You might want to shower or clean yourself up. You’ve smelled worse, but you got some sort of, well, some sort of musk coming off you. Especially your wings.”

Dean groaned, tilting his head back to the ceiling. He didn’t feel dirty, though his wings definitely itched and twitched at the thought of Cas running his fingers through his wings again, cleaning them up. He flushed at the image, and this time Dean would ask him to go slow, even if his stupid heart thumped and sent a wave of heat down him like it was doing now, Dean just had to have that. Again, properly.

“Uh,” Dean coughed, shaking himself clear. “You’ll have to wait ‘til Cas wakes up before I can do a thing about my wings. But yeah, I’ll clean myself up.”

Sam nodded, and that ended their exchanged as Dean left towards his room. He missed his hot, long showers, the water pressure is just divine here, but no way he could possibly squeeze his wings in there. So the very unfulfilling, room temperature, kinda scratchy wet wipe would have to do.

He wandered into his room, his limbs progressively figuring how close they were to sleep again and already begun to take matters into their own hands. He all but stumbled, balance fading from him as he stripped down, though still conscious enough to be grateful for the silts in all his shirts and jackets so they can come off. Though he had to untuck his bottom shirt, and he’s gotta tell Cas about that trick so the little flaps don’t tickle his backside as the shirt Cas is stuck in now is untucked, so Cas must not know.

As fast as his increasingly drowsy mind allows, he wipes himself clean, almost done in under a minute. Which meant he probably still smelled, but once he pulled on boxers and let himself sit on his bed, Dean didn’t care, not an ounce.

He flopped backwards, groaning and rotating to get his head to that really nice and soft pillow. And yeah, he wasn’t getting up. But that was fine, he’d help Cas when he got up, that was the plan anyway.

It took him slightly longer to fall asleep despite his numbing limbs, which joyously reunited with sleep, but he kept pressing his ear into the pillow, expecting to hear something. Some sort of, comfort, or something, but Dean heard nothing, and that made him a bit antsy.

But what the hell was he looking for? It didn’t matter, despite the prickles of unease all over his head and neck, he’d think about it tomorrow.


	17. A Deal Struck

Dean shot awake, the base of his wings flaring with a sharp burst of pain as he sat upright. He hissed, standing up and letting his releasing the pressure around the feathers closest to his back. Note to self, it’s bad to lay on the feathers that get pulled when he sits up. 

He shook his wings out, ignoring the ache and quickly swiped a pair of jeans. He had to get to Cas, his soul had enough recovery time. Extending his wings for balance- they sometimes had their uses- Dean wiggled into his jeans and threw on a shirt, tucking it in before grabbing a flannel and put that on over. He almost felt stupid for putting on socks and shoes in his own home, but when it was full of strangers, it didn’t feel right to go about bare footed. 

He almost ran heading to the medical ward, knowing his soul must be up to par at the excitement coursing through his limbs despite their initial grogginess. Dimly, he noticed the reek in his mouth, days without brushing his teeth, but then it vanished. And yeah, soul definitely was ready. 

Forgoing breakfast, Dean breezed past the kitchen and tumbled towards the medical ward. He might not wake Cas up right now, but finally, _finally_ he could get closer to getting Cas back. Dean couldn’t even be bothered by the vamps or Naomi, since he was getting Cas back. 

One hunter passed him, and Dean respectfully kept his wings pressed to his back so they’d have room to pass, and ignored the look they gave him. Sure, not exactly hostile, but he noticed the edge of wariness, the distrust at the vessel of Michael now bearing huge wings. Dean pushed it out of his mind, he doesn’t care what these strangers think of him. Cas has the same wing situation anyway, and his family understands, that is the only thing that matters. 

Thankfully, no one else was in the medical ward. A brief, half form thought guilty informed him his gratitude came from privacy rather than a thankfulness that no one else was hurt and had to be here for medical reasons, from injury or curse. But, again, it didn’t matter because now he had the best chance to help Cas get up. 

Rolling a backless chair, he sat as close to Cas as he possibly could. Close enough where he didn’t have to bend forward when he reached out to touch Cas. Granted, his reach couldn’t extend to Cas forward, so it sorta rested mainly on Cas’s neck, but soon enough Dean won’t even be able to feel it. 

He focused in on the energy, humming underneath his pulse. It grew as he called it. So similar to how the Mark would fill him up, just a hum until it swelled at the smallest prompt, overwhelming him and forcing his nerves to be so sensitive to every trigger and making it painfully and almost downright impossible to stop the impulses the more they gain momentum, practically turning off the rest of him. 

But this wasn’t like that, despite how wary he started, it prickled with energy, humming in tune with his original intentions rather than forcing rage down his throat. Granted, current emotions easily have been blown out of control, but at least the power itself is neutral. A neutral amplifier. 

Trying to stay calm, he pushed the energy into Cas, his awareness latching onto it. The hunger, prickling as to convince him to eat breakfast, faded away as the rest of his body paused, coasting on autopilot, and each sensation fell away. Dean wondered if his lungs took a deep breath in response to him forcing his thoughts to slow down, trying to be receptive to the strange Cas mist that’s supposed to be in this body. 

As of right now, only cold needles stabbed all over him, mocking him for trusting a witch and a heartless angel. Only emptiness met him, and Dean forced his frustration away by imaging he, they, were stuck in some frozen tundra, dark and a fierce snowy wind distorting his senses. Cas was here, somewhere in this storm that seemed to hold absolutely no life in it, fragments scattered around truing to move back together. 

So Dean began to scan, despite the horrible cold whipping around him, taking time to feel his way around. Rowena or Naomi never actually give him any direction, where Cas would be scattered in the void of this body. Naomi mentioned his memories, thoughts and whatnot, would be around here, probably trying to get back together, so he just had to get his hands on them. Granted, Dean never really had to find memories before. The time he hooked into Mom’s brain, he popped right to her, and connecting to Cas usually meant Cas responded to him. 

Cas mentioned he could though, the same way that the angel could, but they haven’t gotten around to angel lesson of how to pick apart someone’s mind. Part of Dean would’ve been happy to never learn that, despite how easy it might make his life, because messing with someone’s head crossed a lot of lines. Even with Ben and Lisa, no matter how many times he told himself it was the right thing to do, that they were now safe, that they could live happily now, it never felt right. Ben must be in high school now, probably still complaining about his math classes and determined as hell to get Lisa to sympathize with him enough to buy him ice cream. Or maybe a video game, or whatever it is high schoolers try to wring out of their parents. 

And the kid was still in high school, and some drop out hunter, because he was blissfully unaware of all the monsters that Dean brought with him. For a moment, Dean tried to think of a way Cas could erase their memories of monsters but still have an idea of who Dean was. Even if they believed Dean was dead or something, that they remembered him fondly whenever they thought of him. The selfish part of Dean that wanted them to remember him the way he remembered them. 

But Dean couldn’t let the same thing that ruined his childhood ruin Ben. So yeah, Dean erased all their memories and that hurt like hell, so of course Dean didn't think positively of mind-altering anything. Because even when it was right, when Dean saved Lisa and Ben from misery, it still felt so horribly wrong. 

Dean shook the thoughts out, attempting to refocus on Cas, to find him despite the coldness filling up the entire space, the wind swirling around him. Yet his mind stayed stuck on how awful every mind-messing scenario they’ve had the horrible luck to land in. 

The first time they encountered African Dream Root? Oh yeah, Bobby was smack dab in the middle of relieving the night be became a hunter. Cheery times, just goddamn awesome. Then, because it didn’t stop there, Dean saw every rotten thought he so desperately tried to keep down. Thank goodness nothing happened to Sam, not when his little brother could barely look at him without seeing some walking corpse. 

Sirens did that mind funky stuff too, and those bastards suck. They played with people’s emotions and toyed with them before finally ending their lives. Djinn just loved messing with people so much that they fooled them into staying in little paradises so they could suck the life from them. Even shapeshifters, despite not actively changing the way someone thinks, could make someone made by living as a dead loved one or make some paranoid by seeing the same face in different impossible places. 

Even angels figured out how bad mad meddling is, though not to the point where anyone would claim it was now ethical, since they banished all those Grigori creatures. Although, like always, Heaven did a sloppy job cleaning that mess up. Leaving those stupid freaks to basically do what the djinn do, expect feed on souls rather than blood. 

Then of course Naomi came along, and while she did save Cas from Purgatory, she also ruined him. Cas, so freaking desperate to escape the madness of Angel Civil Wars and mind control and whatever other crap those harpless jerks do, decided trusting Metatron to lock them up in Heaven would be the best course of action. Which obviously didn’t go according to plan. 

Stupid mind control. 

The cold pressed upon him as he tried to get the thoughts out, reminding him of how cold and empty Cas was. His mind held nothing, just dormant neurons that occasionally fired to keep the body running. Some magic even lingered in Cas’s body, one to keep him hydrated and fed, but everything else. . . nothing. 

Dean scoured for something, and surely something had to be there, but nothing. It almost seemed endless, this vast cold whipping around in a husk. Cas may not have ever seemed immense when Dean connected with him, not when Cas’s angel-soul was supposed to have a big buffer of grace around it, but the only thing Dean found inside him was the cold. The cold that always mocked him. 

A flare of hate, molten and frustrated as hell, shot through his soul, and before he had the presence to stop it, he reacted. He reached out into the cold and goddamnit, but he was- 

_It’s foggy._

_Sighing, I gaze around the yard and listening to the rake drag across the ground, leaves rustles as they’re pushed into a pile. This yard has all the qualities of being someone’s heaven, calm and peaceful, far away from all the wars and monsters that plague this world._

_Yet it is rather gray and dim, and despite it having no connection to the weather, my doubts gnaw at my mind as foreign tiredness clings to my grace. I’m becoming increasingly concerned the heavy sensation will never leave me._

_I realize coming invisible clearly was a mistake, and now all my concerns stay frozen and refuse to ease. I should let Dean’s senses perceive me, I should tell him of how the Apocalypse might rise again, I should have him rejoin the fight as the fight has not yet ended._

_But, I hesitate. It seems wrong. Perhaps my concept of free will isn’t mature enough, yet another subject I should speak to Dean about, yet this is his heaven. This is what he’s wanted, peacefully raking leaves without a gun tucked into his pants, a family he doesn’t have to fend monsters off to keep them safe. All Dean wants in his heaven is right here, and should I appear, this heaven burns away._

_How can I call myself an angel, a servant of humanity, if I destroy the heaven of the Righteous Man?_

_There must be something else, some other way that keeps this heaven intact and verify that Raphael cannot bring about the Apocalypse. A different outcome, a hidden path, that keeps Dean out of it. He’s given enough, he’s given his entire life and his soul to protecting others. There must be something else rather than asking more of him. Surely something other exists that can give to this fight instead?_

_“Ah Castiel,” My wings tense immediately, feathers fluffing should I need to flee with Dean. “Angel of Thursday, just not your day, is it?”_

_I turn to Crowley, glancing to Dean to confirm he cannot hear this conversation, and sense a rather. . . different, more potent demonic aura coming off of him. “What are you doing here?”_

_The soulless businessman raises his chin, frowning slightly. “I want to help you help me help ourselves.”_

_“Speak plain.” The words flow out quickly, both my vessel’s stance and wings adjusting to the demon. Crowley doesn’t fight, he must want something, another problem on the list that I do not wish to involve Dean with._

_“I want to discuss a simple business transaction. That’s all.”_

_Far off, I sense my feathers ruffling as an itch covers my grace. Impossible, normally. My wings should not respond to simple stimuli so instinctively, without my command, and my grace cannot ‘itch’. Yet another impossibility emotion creates; I wonder what this bitter repulsion is called._

_“You want to make a deal?” The feeling intensifies, my wings fluffing up in a small whirl of flaps, but ultimately under my control still. “With me?”_

_That bitter itchy sensation spikes as my wings tense, even my grace reacting more profoundly. The tinge of its power heats the hands of this vessel, and I lose sight of the strange aura of Crowley. I should smite him, one less scum to worry about. One less problem to worry about, one less pain gone._

_“I’m an angel, you ass.” The words fly out, grace bristling and ready to smite a demon. “I don’t have a soul to sell.”_

_“But that’s it, isn’t it? It’s all of it.” I blink at him, the brash, impulsive words I said not affecting him in the slightest, but I need to keep a check on that. These emotions, sensations, cannot compromise me, cannot slip into my logic without me noticing._

_His stance changes, more assertive, and the demon continues. “It’s the souls. It all comes down to the souls in the end, doesn’t it?”_

_“What are you talking about?” Again, the words fly from my lips without thought. I should kill him, I should not allow-_

_“Raphael’s head on a pike.” The bristle of my grace freezes and the business demon plows on. “I’m talking about happy endings for all of us, with all possible entendres intended.” The demon half turns, one foot leading away from the yard. “Come on, just a chat.”_

_My wings settle onto my vessel’s back, pressing up tight against the skin as it moves through the clothes. Raphael’s head on a pike, while only possible with an Angel Blade, tempts me to follow. If Crowley provides me a means to kill Raphael without the involvement of Dean-_

_“I have no interest in talking with you.” No, I cannot follow him. Crowley is a demon, and somehow different than before. A deal with a demon never provides the desired effects, the Winchesters have suffered enough from that mistake for me to repeat it._

_“Why not?” The demon feigns a scoff. “I’m very interesting.”_

_I stare at him, listening to Dean scoop up leaves in the background instead of envisioning Heaven without Raphael, without him trying to end the world._

_“Come on, hear me out.” The demon tilts his head behind him. “Five minutes. No obligations. I promise.”_

_Dean was indeed scooping the leaves up when I turn to him, pushing the fallen leaves into a white bag, oblivious to the conversation in the same yard as him. Oblivious to the problems festering with Raphael, ready to leak out onto the Earth with all of its destructiveness._

_“I’ll make it worth your while.”_

_This is it, the other way, how to fix this before it becomes another Apocalypse. I can spare Dean of more sacrifice, and I can solve this. Dean can’t be involved again, give more to something I can fix myself. Crowley may be different, stronger, but I am an angel. My grace can still end him whenever I wish, and I should see all the opportunities and outcomes before I decide._

_I will outsmart Crowley and overpower Raphael myself, no need to involve Dean._

_I turn away from my friend and step towards the demon, walking with him. I raise my wings, ignoring the feathers shifting and rustling without my command, and fly to his destination, following him. After all, even if this does turn out to be nothing helpful, I may still leave._

_My vessel eyes instantly adjust when I land, seeing the long, dimly light hallway that expands until the horizon points haze out even to my perception. “Where are we?”_

_“You don’t recognize it, do you?” Crowley gestures forward to the line, a smugness rubbing off him. “It’s Hades, new and improved. I did it myself.”_

_I peer down the line, using my grace to try and see the end of this line. I’m able to see millions of people before even my grace improved sight fades away. Blinking, I turn around. The dark doorway we walked from simply dark from shadows, nothing evil or tainted about it._

_“This is Hell?”_

_“Yeah. Problem with the old place was most of the inmates were masochists already.” I peer sideways at him, involuntary flashes of chains binding doomed souls to a murky storm and racks of bleeding souls cut open by other slowly corrupting souls. “A lot of ‘Thank you sir, can I have another hot spike up the jacksie?’ But just look at them.”_

_His words don’t make sense, although it is of no import, and when a monotone ‘Next’ buzzes through the hallway, the entire line shuffles forward. Completely silent save of the scuffling of shoes and cloth, nothing similar to the screaming writhing pit I found Dean in._

_“No one likes waiting in line.” Crowley smirks at me before looking back at the line, happy with it._

_“What happens when they reach the front?” That’s when the torture must begin, some sort of wait in order to be tortured._

_“Nothing. They go right back to the end again.” The demon meets my gaze, smirking wider. “That’s efficiency.”_

_That same itchy bitter sensation crawls over me as my wings unfurl slightly behind me, responding to a simple longing to return to the yard Dean’s at. I shouldn’t have gone down here with a demon, especially not with such an irritating one._

_“You have four minutes left.” I walk forward alongside the line, leaving the smug and changed aura of the demon, listening to him follow me._

_“What are you planning to do about Raphael?”_

_My wings press tighter to me as Crowley walks through them to follow me, the demon unable to perceive them. “What can I do besides submit or die?”_

_A scoff reaches my ears, that itchy sensation starting to fester over me. “Submit or die? What are you, French? How about resist?”_

_“I’m not strong enough,” Finally, time to see if this demon had a solution or not. “And you know that.”_

_“Not on your own, you’re not. But you’re not on your own.” Crowley’s words flash Dean up to my mind. I would rather fight with Dean, rather die alongside him, than have to work with Crowley on this seemingly long-term plan of his._

_“There’s a lot of angels swooning over you.” My wings sag slightly, cherishing relief that perhaps I don’t need to stay working with Crowley for a long period of time. “God’s favorite. Buddy boy, you’ve got what they call sex appeal.”_

_My grace bristles at the comment, and I’m quick to soothe it. Now’s not the time to think of God’s strange resurrection tendencies yet still hiding, as if keeping me alive to watch my suffering. I’m not thinking about it again._

_“Thank you. Get to the point.”_

_“Angels need leaders, so be one.” A slight pause. “Gather your army and kick the candy out of each and every angel that shows up for Raphael.”_

_I turn, wings flaring out behind me. “Are you proposing that I start a civil war in Heaven?”_

_“Ding ding ding.” Crowley smiles, “Tell him what he’s won-”_

_“You’re asking me to be the next Lucifer.” I lean towards him, glaring at the fallen soul. How foolish of me to come here, to align myself with my enemy. I should stick with my allies, regardless how hard it may be to ask Dean for more._

_Crowley rolls his eyes, his cold smile never leaving. “Please. Lucifer was a petulant child with daddy issues. Cas, you love God. God loves you. He brought you back.” I sigh, struggling to mellow the angers and doubt rippling out through my grace. “Did it occur to you that maybe he did this so you could be the new sheriff upstairs?”_

_I shake my head; the angels would never let me lead. Even if I somehow beat Raphael, I have too much against me to be anything more than a rebellion leader, and the other angels could never see me as someone fit to rule God’s Paradise, not with what my name bears. Yet the movement came out slow, unsure, and even the heart inside this vessel began to thump harder, the possibilities, all the unknown and chaotic futures flashing through my thoughts._

_“This is ridiculous.” I glare at Crowley, which leads to my wings settling to a raised but more controllable position. How could I lead anything when I’ve started to lose grasp over the strict control over my wings? “The power that it would take to mount a war-”_

_“More than either of us have ever seen, yeah.” Crowley sighs, his smile falling. “But what if I said I knew how to go nuclear?”_

_I tilt my head to the side, peering at Crowley as I barely grasping at the sort of power he’s hinting at for so much power that it might rival that of an archangel. “What do you mean?”_

_The corners of his mouth twitch up. “Purgatory, my fine feathered friend. Purgatory.” His smile grows as he walks past me, and we turn into a hallway away from the endless line. “Just think about it. An untapped oil well of every fanged, clawed soul. I mean, what’s that over the years, thirty million? Forty? Just sitting there, plump and rich for the taking.”_

_“And how would you find it when no one ever has?” My wings twitch behind me, as I should leave. I should not be even thinking about this a moment longer, should not let the temptation of this offer linger._

_Crowley begins to gesture with right arm, and I should not let him get excited that I’m considering this- not when I shouldn’t be. “We’ll need expert help.”_

_“From whom?”_

_“From experts of course.” He stops, still gesturing, and I pause to face him. “I know two eerily suited Teen beat models with time on their hands.”_

_“No.” My wings snap out, flaring and arching challenging the moment I understand his vile implication. “Not Dean. He’s retired and he’s to stay that way.”_

_“Fine.” The demon huffs it out, and a sudden rush of gratitude comes over me that my vessel does not respond so passionately as my wings do, responses I now have to deduce their meaning. Yet, I do at least have control over what Crowley can see. “Then I know of a certain big, bald patriarch I can take off the bench.”_

_I break eye contact, wondering if his intentions include Sam. Sam, Sam should not be considered a viable option either. Something might be wrong with him, something felt very off when I pulled him from the pit. I had wished to reunite the brothers, give something back to Dean, but not until I figure out what happened to the younger Winchester. Which, unfortunately, has not been my main thought with the threats from Raphael._

_“The point is, they can get us to the monsters.” Crowley states, steely determination radiating from his every word. The deal must be coming to a close. “The monsters can get us to Purgatory. I know it.”_

_I glance down, something dark and cold curling in the pit of my grace when I reply. “And what’s your price in all of this?”_

_“Just half.”_

_“Half?” That would leave me with an estimate of fifteen million souls, more than enough- No, no, I shouldn’t-_

_“My position isn’t all that stable, ducky.” I tear my eyes away from Crowley; I can’t accept this. “Those souls would help, just like they’d help you. Besides, wouldn’t you rather have me in charge down here? The devil you know.”_

_So that was where the difference of power came from, Crowley technically has the title of King of Hell, but doesn’t have all the power of-_

_“Next.”_

_I turn away from the demon and the endless hallway, forcing my thoughts back to this. I can’t be distracted; I have to think this through. These emotions cannot distract me from my goal; eliminating the threat Raphael poses to Dean and the world._

_“This is pointless.” I shut the idea out, this won’t work, and I should leave now. Even if I could fight back, I would been beaten far too quickly for anything to matter. “Your plan would take months and I need help now.”_

_“Granted. Yes.” The demon continues to talk, which meant he has a plan, a plan I find myself gravitating towards despite the grave, cold sensation crawling through me. “But just to show you how serious I am about this scheme, how about I float you a little loan? Say, fifty large?”_

_That would be enough. . . ._

_“Fifty-thousand souls from the pit. You can take them up to Heaven. Make quite a showing.” He pauses, the weight of this, of working with a demon, settling down on me. “It’s either this or the Apocalypse all over again. Everything you’ve worked for, everything that Sam and Dean have worked for gone. You can save us, Castiel.”_

_A tight bitterness clamps down on me, wings squeezing together. My name, even more than it already is, would be forever tarnished if I accepted the demon’s deal. If I were to win, there would be no escaping it, I would be banished from Heaven. An angel cannot work with a demon under any circumstances._

_But. . . if I refuse, it's gone. Everything Dean deserves would perish before him. Sam would never be fixed. The world would burn as it was foretold to. Free will, all the glorious and endless choices before every human and angel, would be mere ash as the archangels battled. Everything would be gone._

_And that cannot happen._

_No matter the price it asks of me, as long as it is only from me._

_“God chose you to save us.” I half turn to Crowley, envisioning the future I plan to take and ignoring the how my doubts grow numb as I cave into the idea. “And I think, deep down, you know that.”_

_I face Crowley, lifting my chin as the numb, the dark thing rising further up in me. He meets my eye, nodding slightly. I nod back, the clear picture of Raphael’s burnt wings on the floor and the happiness Dean will have when I save his brother. I will make everything right, as I have the fortitude to do so._

_“Very well Crowley,” My wings rise behind me as I force out the nervous shuffle of feathers. “I accept your deal.”_

_He grins back, but he has no idea._

_I will outsmart and overpower Raphael, and I will do the same with Crowley._

_Nothing will stand in my way, as my mission is too important, and I have to be strong enough to face it._

_Whatever the consequence._

Dean gasped, flinging himself out of the memory and right back into his body. His legs scrambled for balance, shouts and hands swarming all around. His wings flurried behind him, and the air felt better here. Nothing like the stale and dank air in that hallway, but his wings kept hitting stuff and his heart thumped erratically. 

“Dean!” 

Dean grabbed onto Sam’s arms, grounding himself in his brother’s voice. Listening to his voice as he rambled, asking what happened, if Dean was okay, if Cas was. It was just nice to hear his voice, his brother, here in the bunker, with his own ears. 

“Come on man, I need something from you.” Sam pushed him lightly, and Dean, still in the process of getting used to his own body again, stumbled back onto another bed and collapsed on it. “Are you okay? What happened in there?” 

“I, uh, I-” Dean pressed both hands to his face, trying to think of what happened himself, before lowering them and staring up at Sam. “I don’t know. I think- I was- It was so real Sammy, as if-” 

His eyes fell as the rest of his sentence rang in his head. Sam shook his shoulders as he- because, no. That can’t be possible, not without something more than a probing soul, because that was way too vivid- 

“Dean,” Sam shook his shoulders again, hard. “What happened?” 

Dean lifted his eyes back up, staring at his brother as the words breathlessly fell from his lips. “I was Cas, I lived through one of his memories as if, as if. . . Sam, I thought I was him, I thought everything was actually happening that moment. It was so vivid, so real.” 

A heavy sigh fell along with Sam’s shoulders. “You couldn’t distinguish yourself from him? Dean, that’s, that’s gonna be pretty hard to deal with. Control.” 

Nodding, not quite listening, Dean looked away as the memories replayed itself in his head. He couldn’t believe- Cas was actually trying to go to Dean for help, he didn’t look for Crowley, he didn’t want it. Cas stood there, trying to will himself to talk to him, but felt too guilty to say anything. The one time someone values Dean’s well-being over the entire world’s. 

Dean pressed a hand to his chest, slowly closing it into a fist at the thought of when he, when Cas, started to heavily consider accepting Crowley’s deal. How numb it felt, how dark and cold. The disgust, the fear, all humming in the background as Cas pushed it aside. The desperation to keep the world spinning, to preserve the heaven Dean carved out with Ben and Lisa, that Cas ignored the grave warning rising in him. He pushed aside his instincts, because he saw no other choice in the matter. 

And it all started right next to him, just right there. He remembered it, why he went out to rake leaves in the first place. It was all so new, everything so fresh that he and Lisa had their first real fight, Ben thankfully at school. She accused him of still having one foot out the door, ready to run back to the monsters he knows. Which wasn’t fair. Dean couldn’t talk to anyone about it, couldn’t leave that trauma in their heads. He wouldn’t do that, but of course there would be some problems with it all bottled up. 

So Dean had to burn some steam off, and what better way than to rake some leaves in the crisp air away from people. He remembered thinking of Cas, wishing he could talk to him about all this crap. Admit to him, the only person- angel, whatever- that knew of his promise to Sam, of how close he was to breaking it. How much he longed to burn through his anger by chopping the heads off in a vamp nest. Or the blast of heat when ghost bones burn and fry the spirit. 

And Cas was there, and if Dean only saw him, if they had only talked, then they could’ve avoided so much. An archangel would’ve been tough, super tough, but they would have found something. Maybe figure out the existence of Hands of God sooner than they did before, that surely would’ve worked. If Dean had the balls to actually admit he wanted to see Cas and formerly prayed to him, then maybe that would’ve been the push the angel needed to appear. 

Damnit, apparently Cas sucked at talking about his problems just as much as he did. 

“Dean,” Sam groaned, “Are you even listening to me?” 

Dean sucked in a sharp breath and deflated. He didn’t want to lie, try to convince Sammy, he just, he wanted to rest a little. Just a quick break. “Sorry Sammy.” 

Sam blew out a stressed sigh, sharply nodding. “That settles it then. You aren’t going to try again, and you are going to recover. So-” 

“No, not happening.” Dean rose to his feet, his balance steady now and fully readjusted to being back in his body. “I accessed a memory, so I know what to look for now. I just have to piece it all together now. I just got, disorientated. Give me a break, first time crawling around through an angel’s brain.” 

“Dean-” Sam’s face fell, giving him a solid bitch face, but Dean lifted a hand to stop him right there before the puppy eyes come out. Dean gave him a look when he huffed, shifting the wing closest to his brother and ready to fling it in his face should he talk again, but Sam stayed quiet. 

“One more time. You can watch over me or whatever.” Dean grabbed the rolling chair again, adjusting next to Cas again. “If something seems to be happening, just pull me away from him.” 

“Are you sure? You came out of that freaked, you can’t let yourself get hurt trying to fix him.” He heard Sam swallow as Dean lifted his hand back up, his calloused skin resting over Cas’s neck. 

Dean mumbled, low enough that Sam couldn’t hear, thinking back to the memory he already been exposed to. “Whatever the price.” 

“Hmm?” 

“I’m sure. This is for Cas.” And with a deep breath, Dean pushed into Cas, his soul and mind ready to fix Cas.


	18. Take Two

The cold and emptiness meant him when he entered Cas the second time. But it wasn’t cold and empty, Dean understood that now. The cold, the wind that seemed to hit him inside of Cas, must be memories, memories flying around trying to connect together in the right way. Detached and numb, making everything meaningless and empty. 

He planned to slip into one of these gusts, but he paused, sensing one different than the others. Familiar, the memory he just lived rushing past. He had no reason to go in again, Dean doubted he’d forget that in a long, long time, but he followed it. Naomi said Cas’s thoughts should be reconnecting together naturally, although the blew around much too fast for any sort of connection to form, but it wouldn’t do Dean a whole of good if he slipped into a random two-thousand-year-old memory that ended up being average. 

So Dean followed it, but it didn’t go anywhere. Different winds, which all felt exactly the same, pushed and pulled at it and bent its direction. This didn’t seem like a void any longer, more of a living wind. One that Dean somehow had to wrangle and turn back into Cas. How easy. 

When the Crowley memory seemed to hover closely to this other wind, Dean reached out for it. It probably had something to do about them figuring out Cas’s deal, or maybe the leviathans if Cas’s thoughts and memories are aligning themselves in a cause-and-effect way, but Dean could deal with it. It already happened once, Dean could live with living through it from a new viewpoint. 

_“Anna.” My vessel’s voice carries through empty air, and even to its own ears the name comes out. . . hesitant. If I will do this, then I need to be sure of it. “Anna, please.”_

_The streetlight flickered above, so Anna must not be used to her grace again after being a human. Which meant she came. Strange. I still have orders for her death, and my Father must want that then still. If my superiors haven’t altered the orders, I should still follow them without question. Anna should know that._

_I turn to face her, her grace, while frayed slightly, gleams with purpose her vessel does not show. It makes me wonder what she sees, what she thinks. Will I prove myself to my superiors? I need to, their doubts grow stronger as failures mount up around me and it won’t be long until I’m put on trial for disobedience to the Heavenly Host. Yet I don’t believe her death is something my Father truly wants. He created her after all._

_“Decided to kill me after all?”_

_“I’m alone.” Alone, my wings press tighter to me, a reaction I did not will. It is night, and my grace shields my vessel from lower temperatures, which doesn’t stop the chill crawling up me. Alone. Alone. Abandoned. Severed from all my brothers and sisters. After so much work, after believing that rouge angels deserted our Father and need to be cut down, I am still here without the intention to punish._

_“What do you want from me Castiel?”_

_“I’m considering disobedience.” How heavy such words are. How could words be so heavy? Simple vibrations through the air are weightless, and yet it weighs me down. Mere words eluding to pain, to suffering, and yet I am still compelled to say them. Why? I may doubt my superiors but defying them is against God’s will. Yet, I do not wish to take back the words._

_What is this. . . sensation? What name does this cold cruel thing bare?_

_Anna nods, small, fast movements. “Good.”_

_“No, it isn’t.” She must understand, she fell. Angels can’t handle these sensations, already my composure threatens to completely dissolve and release these abnormal sensations into far more severe actions. “For the first time. . . I feel.”_

_I let the sentence hang there, closing my mouth before the word ‘lost’ slips out. Already those mere words carry so much weight. My superiors might have heard, and now everything I have worked for may rise above my reach. I stretch my wings out briefly, urged on by a foreign impulse to flee from this place. Something may be watching; my Father could be watching. I cannot disappoint Him. I cannot. I cannot._

_And yet, what is this wild energy coursing through me? A thrum within my grace rallying me to flee, to take action, to disobey regardless? This desire to escape, to break away? This one is new, different, so wild and unfocused, base and primal even to humans. Ludicrous for an angel to feel._

_“It gets worse.” I lower my head and avert my gaze, as her words carry weight as well. My wings, a very extension of my power, take effort to remain folded up at my back and not to sag, for I can barely tolerate this and still execute my mission. I must still stop the Apocalypse, for certain God plans for this to be averted. Why cage Lucifer if He intended for him to rise again?_

_Anna steps forward to me, and the effort to meet her eyes seems much more than what it should be. “Choosing your own course of action, it’s confusing. It’s terrifying.” She reaches out for my arm, and I shy away from it. It is strange, the gesture was meant to be comforting, but the thought of anything touching me reignites that powerful urge to flee. Perhaps I need to leave before this becomes too much, before something happens that I will regret._

_Besides, I need not to choose my own course of action. I simply need to figure out if the Host’s orders are truly my Father’s will._

_“That’s right,” Her words sharpen, and I shouldn’t care about that when the orders to kill her still stands, but nevertheless, I don’t like that sound. “You’re too good for my help. I’m just trash. A walking blasphemy.”_

_“Anna-” The word jumps out, nothing to follow it. Purely reflexive, and I should- I need to- I can’t- I-_

_“I don’t know what to do.” Mere words, and yet my wings collapse with them. Where does this weight come from? I should go back to my superiors, before this started to happen, and yet- that dark weight stills me. However, I need a course of action before I lose myself. “Please, tell me what to do.”_

_“Like the old days?” I meet her eyes, and yes, that. Anna has strength, she knows what all of this is. I can rely on her guidance. “No. I’m sorry. It’s time to think for yourself.”_

_She flapped and left, leaving me alone. She left these thoughts with me, these urges pulling and compelling me to take action different than the orders of my superiors. She told me to think for myself, a blasphemous thought. I follow the will of my Father, and I have to prove that loyalty. I have to show Him I am worthy. That has been my only goal for my entire existence, why does that need to change now? Why would I want that to be any different?_

_I glance around, perhaps searching for a sign or message to reassure me that it is the will of my Father to follow the Host He created. No other angel comes to criticize me, not even in Angel Radio, nothing but space. Nothing around except for me. I’m all alone here._

_But I’m an angel, angels are never truly alone. Someone must be watching; someone must be aware of what I do. I must stay true to my orders, above all else, I must stay with the will of my Father._

_My gaze settles on the water fountain, the chilling sense of loneliness affecting all of me, and I search for a distraction. In a moment, I will surely be given new orders-_

_The fountain has a faucet, and it’s leaking, wetting the cement._

_Which would taint the precise lines necessary to keep a demon powerless within a Devil’s Trap._

_Finally, a distraction._

_Without pause, my wings flap and send me soaring to my destination. Alastair's trap lays bare, a taunt to the failure which almost killed Dean. I perfected that trap, no harm was meant to come to my charge, and yet, it still happened despite my watchful eye._

_Since I absolutely did not ask Dean to enter when there’s a clear gap in the outer circle of the trap. As I walk over to it, I check the other symbols, which are all in perfect shape. Crouching next to the fault in the white line, wet concrete meets my finger as I feel the gap. In the next moment, a water-drop lands in the center._

_I look up, standing as I spot the leaky pipe above me. I surely would’ve noticed that when I prepared this trap, if it was dripping earlier. A few steps to the right, following the pipe, reveals the faucet, turned on._

_A familiar darkness, something heavy and grating deep within as I call for Uriel. I turn my vessel’s hand, using too much grace to turn something so light and moveable, but I cannot be bothered by it. Sabotage. All of this, Alastair’s escape and Dean’s injury, all because someone planned this. Someone intentionally- they wanted for this demon to escape and kill the Righteous Man._

_Someone dared to try to kill my charge!_

_“You called?” Uriel’s voice broke the silence of the room, and I take a moment to pull my composure back together. “What do you say Castiel? Will you join me?” His voice dropped, a whisper. “Will you fight with me?”_

_“It’s strange,” Tight bursts of grace zag across me despite my efforts to contain them. “Strange how a leaky pipe can undo the work of angels when we ourselves are supposed to be the agents of fate.”_

_Uriel shook his head, and more heat engulfed me as my feathers puffed out. “Alastair was much more powerful than we had imagined.”_

_“No.” I struggle to keep my newfound feelings from corrupting me, from what Uriel did and continues to do. I fought for and earned his respect, one of the few angels I’ve sought out for company, and he dares do this? “No demon can overpower that trap. I made it myself.” I pause, staring at him and hoping he can perceive the turmoil inside me. What he did to me. “We’ve been friends for long Uriel. Fought by each other's sides, served together away from home for what seems like forever.”_

_I stand in front of him, this heavy heat intensifying and clawing with every word, urging me to continue despite consequences. An urge trying rip control out of my mind. “We’re brothers, Uriel. Pay me that respect. Tell me the truth.”_

_“The truth is,” The heat pauses at his fast reaction, I didn’t even realize I didn’t expect him to give me that respect. “The only thing that can kill an angel,” Metal clings as an Angel Blade slides down into his hand, a new fiery surge overtaking my thoughts. “Is another angel.”_

_How dare he? How dare he! After everything we have done together, and he does this! How did I not know? Why did he not trust me when I’ve always trusted him?_

_The answer churns deeply inside of me, an old dark feeling crawling out of the depths of my grace. It is not right, but I have yet to find anything that can eradicate it. Cannot find the will push it away. Uriel has defied our Father._

_“You.”_

_“I’m afraid so.”_

_“And you broke the Devil’s Trap, set Alastair on Dean.” Grace surges at the simple words, never have I wanted a fight so badly. Not with one of the people who I trusted, not with someone I’ve fought with and for._

_“Alastair should never have been taken alive. Really inconvenient, Castiel.” My wings flare, and his words appall me. Words that feed the heat running rampant and pouring icy water over me simultaneously, my tenuous grasp over these sensations becoming harder to hold. How could he betray- why would he want to? “Yes, I did turn the screw a little. Alastair should’ve killed Dean and escaped. And you should’ve gone on happily scapegoating the demons.”_

_“For the murders of our kin?”_

_“Not murders Castiel, no.” Uriel lightly shook his head, and that hot twisted thing begins to harden. "My work is conversion. How long have we waited here? How long have we played this game by rules that make no sense?”_

_I shake my head, I have my problems with the Heavenly Host, but our Father is pure and pettiness against Heaven would disobey Him. “It is our Father’s world, Uriel-”_

_“Our Father?” The holy name comes out harsh from Uriel’s lips, and I turn away. How can this be? What corrupted Uriel like this? “He stopped that, if he ever was, the moment He created them.”_

_Uriel huffs, spitting out the word. “Humanity. His favorites. . .”_

_My wings bristle on my back, grace flooding through my vessel’s body and almost ripping through my composure. We are meant to love them, a very bright and holy command. How could he think of anything less than miraculous? How they preserve in a world constantly abusing them with no powers or aid to help them?_

_“His whining, puking larvae-”_

_I face him, taking great, conscience care to keep my grace contained. “Are you trying to convert me?”_

_“I wanted you to join me,” Uriel’s right arm twitches up, but rightly decides against that. “And I still do. With you, we can be powerful enough to-”_

_“To?”_

_A ghost of a smile drifts on Uriel’s face. “To raise our brother.”_

_“Lucifer.” The heat, fiery power trilling through my grace snaps tight and I reign it under control. As a Seraph, it is my duty to apprehend threats, not to be overwhelmed by reactions. Uriel is a traitor to the Host, a blasphemy far worse than any action Anna took, and such treason is punished only with death. God locked away Lucifer, he is not meant to rise._

_“You do remember him.” Uriel gazes off and walks past me, and I attempt to regain control over my grace from these multiplying feelings. Uriel might be entranced by the demons somehow; he must not be lucid. “How strong he was, how beautiful. . . . And he did not bow to humanity.”_

_Uriel spins, pointing determinedly, and the fellow angel I’ve fought with must still be in there. I must draw him out, I do not wish to kill him. He may speak treason, but. . ._

_“He was punished for defending us!” I barely shake my head, stopping my traitorous thoughts trying to fool me that such a hex exists that can make Uriel’s grace shine with this profound purpose. “Now, if you want to believe in something, Castiel, believe in him.”_

_“Lucifer is not God.” Though perhaps if I can make Uriel see that, make him understand the error in his ways, then he won’t have to die. I will not have to fight my brother._

_“God isn’t God anymore.” Uriel brushes past me, and I steel myself. Uriel has gone rogue like Lucifer before him and must be put down. That is God’s will; I have to follow it. “I am proof of that.”_

_“But this?” I shake my head, glancing up in a bleak hope I will be ordered to do this by my superior, that they are aware of this and will send another angel to aid me. These sensations are even worse than my previous ones, an aversion to kill and a savage strength to attack existing simultaneously. “What were you going to do, Uriel? Were you going to kill the whole garrison?”_

_He shook his head. “I only killed the ones who said no.”_

_I freeze and look away, the execution words stopping before I say them. Others? There are more angels that follow this blasphemous path? After all this time, everything I’ve had to endure based on no fault of mine, when there were other angels following the path I was accused of. That all of Heaven seemed to distrust me on rumors when there were actual angels plotting against our Father._

_“Now please, brother, don’t fight me.” Uriel’s tone hardens further, and something dark and hateful sparks deep within my grace. Cold compared to the heat earlier. Unified compared to the strife earlier. Terrifying compared to fleeting ones earlier. “Help me. Help me spread the word. Help me bring on this apocalypse.”_

_I meet his gaze, ignoring the coldness and the disgusting hateful thing trying to spark to life. I have worked too hard to throw everything away, to give into this formidable darkness in me. I have spent my life proving myself to the other angels I will not be disloyal. I am on the right path, the holy path. I am an angel of the Lord. I am a Seraph, Son of God. I am a warrior, and it’s my job to dispose of threats to Him._

_I will do this since it is God’s will. I am not giving into this sensation, I am doing my duty._

_“All you have to do, is be unafraid.”_

_I lower my eyes, calling upon my grace to surge through me. “For the first time in a long time. . .” I ignore the cold, the surge of numbed and dark strength heightening my grace as I brace for the fight against Uriel, who plotted against me as I called him brother._

_“I am.”_

_I punch with my grace, slamming it into my friend with as much strength I can. He crashes into the brick wall, and dark satisfaction swarms me. I pause instantly, terrified for how easily I gave in, convincing myself this is alright. I must remain in control, I am disposing a traitor, nothing more. This corruption needs to stay out of my grace._

_He comes at me, and I raise my fists instead of following the impulse to summon my Angel Blade. His grace plows into mine with every hit, funneling strength into that darkness threatening to consume me. I barely manage to hit him as I struggle to keep it down, his fists hammering my vessel and grace alike until he tosses me aside._

_A pillar shatters behind my back, limbs colliding into cement as I spin back to my feet. I am better than this. I am a warrior. I am trained to fight, even in this vessel, it is my purpose. Even if I am fighting Uriel, my training partner, my friend, my brother who betrayed- No, I must fight clear-headed. It is my duty, my only duty. I must fight threats against God without emotion._

_I spit out the blood collecting in my vessel’s month, facing Uriel again. Calling my grace without trying to call upon it too much for fear of the unpredictable energy crackling within, I punch Uriel twice. He stumbles back, and I need to call my blade-_

_He jumps back up, swinging a pipe into my head. My vessel’s legs collapse as the foreign darkness burns inside me, commanding me to fight back. To kill him after he’s done so much to betray me, to do unto him as he does onto me. Yet I must not fight with emotion. I cannot. That’s not what- a warrior must stay separate from that._

_“You can’t win Uriel,” I look up at him from my knees, not fighting the hand that squeezes my neck still. “I still serve God.”_

_He shakes his head, disgusted. “You haven’t even met the man!”_

_The words ring truth within me while my own words leave something twisting deep inside me. I must numb this out, I do not wish to feel any of this. I can barely think, and I can’t- I’m not supposed to be like this. These reactions should not be possible. In small doses, I assumed it nothing too preposterous, but this is immense, suffocating. Corrupting._

_“There is no will!”_

_Another punch to my vessel’s head, grace pounding inside me. Yet the words stick, settling deep down and stirring up zealous flares of grace I can barely contain._

_“No wrath.”_

_Another punch, and still I haven’t received orders. If the Host could see this, then I should be receiving the order to execute Uriel for treason. If they were to order me, then I would be able to shut out these feelings, align myself with my orders. Yet they’ve left me here, left me with my brother aiming to kill me. Shouldn’t they be receiving an order from Joshua?_

_“No God.”_

_He raises his fist, the two simple words crippling, but then grunts. I glance up, dimly seeing the blade poking out from Uriel’s neck as Anna stands behind him, dimly recognizing that she’s whispering. A traitor killed by a deserter, who saved a doubter. I could not even fight, I barely fought at all due to these emotions distracting me. Angels are corrupted by emotions, both Anna and Uriel performing blasphemous acts because of it. I need to contain this. I must serve God._

_Anna rips out the blade, and Uriel’s vessel falls to the floor. Anna stands by me, but I don’t take my eyes off Uriel. Both of them broke the rules of the Host, one suffered as a mortal and now-_

_Uriel screams, his grace flaring bright as it tries to escape the vessel, to escape the lethal wound binding him to the body. He glows brighter, the deadly effects of the metal burning his grace until it all explodes out._

_I stand, the impression of his wings burnt onto the ground from the blast. Nothing left of Uriel’s grace and the vessel’s blood leaks out from the fatal hole in the neck._

_It numbs me, seeing one I trusted more among others, laying there never to move again. Yet, a great chill soon settles, refusing to budge and feeding that dark twisted sensation in me. The Host did not know about Uriel’s treason, and a fallen angel came to help me. Not my superiors, not any other member of the garrison. Anna. Yet they should know, as they receive guidance from God, and He sees all._

_This should not concern me, my mission remains. Lucifer cannot rise. God’s will is to keep him locked away. Heaven wishes to do the same, so I need to stay in line with Heaven. I need to follow the commands of my superiors as they align with God’s will._

_Yet, I glance over to Anna, seeing all that she is and exists as. A fierce warrior, unyielding in battle. A great Seraph, one that bows to nothing else. No exception made for our Father either._

_“Thank you.” I force the words out, figuring she would appreciate them, as I slowly let a sliver of grace heal my vessel._

_“It’s strange, isn’t it?” She stares at me, my feathers shivering as I look down. “The fist doesn’t hurt, doesn’t leave a painful lasting mark. Only the words.” She pauses, and I wonder if I should speak, if I should speak of the turmoil brewing within me. “I hope you remember this, Castiel, you can only trust yourself to get the job done.”_

_I hear the stress on my name as she leaves, the powerful flap of her wings, and I feel the presence of her frayed grace vanish. Despite knowing the sight will be detrimental, I slowly lift my gaze to Uriel’s body. Already Anna’s words show truth, as I cannot feel his punches anymore, yet his words ring once more in my head._

_God isn’t God anymore. No God, no wrath, and no will._

_“Uriel. . .” My lips form over the word, a mere whisper falling out despite the ever growing and hardening dark pit deep within me. “I trusted you.”_

_I glance up, the truth that my superiors have always had a watchful eye on the lower classes of angels crumbling in my mind. They could not control traitors, Sam Winchester, a human, figured out these deaths weren’t demonic before them, when they should have known there is corruption in the ranks of angels._

_It seems as if I cannot trust my fellow angels, and now, I suspect I cannot trust my superiors either._

_I wonder if I can even trust in my Father anymore._

The memory came to a close, and Dean slipped out of it. It was easier this time, coming to terms that the strife of grief and fear, all under a crushing weight of betrayal, was not his and did not belong to him. A new gust hit him, two, three, different memories swirled all around him, and Dean struggled to stay firm against them. 

Dean spread out his awareness, searching for the two memories in the hurricane full of them. Either way, those two memories must be trying to connect, and if Dean had to guess, this was the part of Cas acting emotionally. And if this theory holds, there should other parts of him acting logically, being a leader, other stuff. 

The memory Dean just trudged through was literally the guy admitting to himself that he had emotions. And while a few guilty thoughts lingered in the back of his head at how poorly Dean treated Cas when Cas didn’t even know how to properly recognize his emotions, Dean decided he didn’t need to look at these winds around the that one know they must be something similar. 

When he found the Crowley memory, the Crowley deal one, it didn’t take long for the Uriel one to show up. So, time to piece them back together. 

First, Dean tried to guide one wind into the other, but they just kinda ricocheted off of each other. Hurtling apart every time, despite Dean’s passionate attempts to run the two into each other, so Dean needed a plan B or go memory diving again to figure out a new theory. 

It didn’t take long to think of a plan B with the uncomfortable thought of having to go memory diving again. When the two memories naturally came close together, Dean slowly eased them together. The two pushed against him when the two touched, and Dean shivered as he felt the dark guilt of making a betrayal and the cold rage at being betrayed, yet he didn’t let them separate. 

And finally, _finally_ , the two merged together. They still felt cold and empty, but a shimmer of blue twinkled inside them, a spark of Cas. 

Dean immediately targeted another wind coasting by, and before it could drift off, Dean eased it into the bigger wind. He thought it would be harder with two memories now stronger together, but this must be a very close memory as it merged easily with the others. A quick flash, even if weak, of Cas lighting up before fading again. 

Each time Dean guided another memory into the growing part of Cas, similar memories would breeze past. Slowly, it didn’t even feel as cold or empty as long as Dean stayed beside the merging winds. Sure, Dean knew this was only a sliver of Cas, yet he still sensed Cas, and that was more than he’s gotten in a long time. 

The wind slowed down the as Dean pushed more memories together, the bluer and solider it grew. Which, as it became thicker and more concrete, Dean rejected the idea that this was just emotional susceptibility. This was betrayal. All the hate, confusion, guilt growing off it like tumors. 

Dean watched, stunned and horrified, as those emotions, still connected to each other, started to slowly collect their own memories. Doubt and suspicion sprouted up soon, all under the looming sense of betrayal. A suffocating sense of being unable to trust anything. Which also included Cas himself. 

Another shot of guilt hit Dean when he realized he might be a cause of that. Since he did not doubt that a certain memory of him kicking Cas out of the bunker was in this oozing mass suspicion. 

Still, nothing could be totally straightforward and simple. Some winds circled it and then got slingshot away. Which, if Dean wanted to break it apart, probably meant something that the memory had a correlation with doubt and then some other part of Cas. Maybe it was even nice, like he thought someone was going to betray him, but didn’t. Or it was attracted to that protectiveness in the Crowley memory. 

Yeah right. Dean wasn’t that lucky. 

Another wind curved around the umbrella of betrayal, and before it could be lost to the raging winds of the meaningless space, Dean followed it. Those emotions were working without him, so he could move on now. Hopefully, he would be able to tell what memories stayed around this one and Dean might be able to merge them without slipping another memory of Cas’s. 

The problem being, Dean almost immediately lost track of the unfamiliar memory. It seemed exactly the same as all the other ones, and the rush of winds bombarding all around him never let him get reoriented again. Dean needed some sort of checkpoint, and that meant getting familiar with one of these memories. 

Hopefully, he only had to do this once before he could start merging memories together. 

_The Impala never stops vibrating._

_Never, and I should ignore it, even if Dean doesn’t have his music on to distract me. Ignore the soft purr of the vehicle, the quiet rumble of the Winchester’s signature car. But if Dean doesn’t have his music on, it must mean he has something on his mind._

_The car’s engine could never take my mind off of such a topic, I know what’s he’s going to say. The world’s ending, our plan failed, so this would be the time to get let everything out. Or, that’s what humans tend to do. If we will all die very soon, then I would prefer to let much of my feelings die with me. Especially from Dean. What would be the purpose of letting out all the things we had a reason not to tell? Won’t that just make us feel worse before our deaths?_

_Perhaps someone who hasn’t died before would have a different stance, yet there was nothing I felt relieved I could say the times I came back. Yet, this is an assumption of an angel who thought it was a brilliant idea to let Lucifer out of his cage, so I could very well be wrong on this as well. Either way, no matter what insignificant conclusions I come to, I can not avoid the criticism of my actions. These pitiful distractions won’t change that._

_I keep my head straight, and if Dean decides to speak to me about that, then so be it. If he reprimands me harshly, so be it. Hopefully, I will die knowing he’s still my friend. He did invite me to a beer run, so perhaps nothing will happen. Yet the idea of dying not knowing how he considers me, it’s unpleasant. However, I shouldn’t be greedy. I’d rather die like this than knowing how much he despises me for letting Lucifer out._

_Letting Lucifer out, that was my decision. I deserve his harsh words._

_He glances over me, and I resign to my fate even if my fear reaches my served wings. The broken limbs somehow twitch, the flash of pain almost causing me to wince, from the real possibility I might lose Dean. However, I’ll still be grateful for all the times I still got to share with him and Sam on Earth. It was more than my life as an angel ever was, and whether we part friends or foes, I will be grateful for it. Even if I never did anything wise from what I experienced._

_“How are doing? You good?” He looks back to the road, and I wait for him to get his point out. “I mean, you know, the whole Lucifer thing.”_

_I huff, shaking my head. “I was just. . . so stupid.”_

_“No,” I glance over to him, tilting my head at him as my next words die on my tongue. “No, no. It wasn’t stupid. You were right. You were right to let Lucifer ride shotgun. Me and Sam wouldn’t have done that.”_

_He looks over to me, as if to emphasize how genuine his words are. Which. . . they are. Is he. . . is Dean congratulating me for releasing the Devil? He’s not yelling, he doesn’t appear mad. Maybe tired, the world is ending, but he could get angry with no threads attached. Or however that phrase goes._

_“Well,” I glance over at the window, perhaps the anger is just shimmering behind his tiredness. “It didn’t work.”_

_“No, but it was our best shot, and you stepped up.” Okay, that one seems harder to interpret, his words coated in something. Not anger, seems sadder than that. Guilt? Regret? Perhaps he’s trying to draw out an explanation before deciding whether to properly react. Setting me up for my reprimand._

_“I was just trying to help.” I take a deep breath, hopefully I can say-_

_“Well, and you do help Cas. You know-” He pauses, and an uneasy, worried thing flutters throughout me. I can’t tell where this is going, is Dean not going to get mad? “You know, sometimes me and Sam have got so much going on that we forget about everyone else.”_

_A smile tries to tug my lips up as Dean turns the car, and I quickly glance over to Dean. “Well, you do live exciting lives.”_

_He chuckles, and similar to my own smile, it fades almost instantly. “Yeah, that’s one word for it.” The silence continues for another moment, and despite driving, Dean gives me a level stare. One I can’t return. “But you’re always there, you know?”_

_I avert my gaze, despite wanting to look back on at him. A warm, quite unexpected sensation, hesitantly creeps from the chest of my vessel, blooming out through my grace. This is quite. . . nice. This is good. Yet, I released Lucifer. How can this be coming from that action? This is not what I expected. Should I trust it?_

_“You’re the best friend we’ve ever had.”_

_Friend. My lips twitch at the thought. That’s nice, good, better than what I could’ve hoped for. Dying knowing how much Dean values me, despite all the awful decisions I’ve made, that’s-_

_“You’re our brother, Cas. I want you to know that.”_

_My head moves, seemingly on its own, to meet Dean’s look. He’s serious, Dean Winchester who sold his sold for Sam, called me his brother. I- I-_

_“Thank you.” The warmth floods out from me without warning, and even if it’s our last days, it’s all worth it. My grace, the damaged and shredded thing it is, soars for the first time in years. Lighter than it ever has in Heaven._

_I need to say more, I want to- I want to hug him. Which wouldn’t be taken well, especially since Dean’s driving, but to be- This is- I can’t- Everything seems so perfect, despite how far everything is from perfect. For I have this, this that makes me whole and light and happy._

_A real family._

_I open my mouth as ringing consumes the air. I sigh, the chance lost as Dean speaks into the device. I will not be greedy, since I have this. There may be a part of me that wants more, but this in itself is more than what I could hope for._

_I smile, the name of the comforting warmth whispering a name. A name that doesn’t come close to describing the bliss touching my being, but one that washes the rest of lingering doubts from what I expected from Dean._

_Acceptance. True acceptance._

_What a wonderful, wonderful thing indeed._

Dean almost forgot what he was doing when that one ended. The great warmth quickly fading to a fuzzy feeling as Dean’s mind became familiar with his own being again. That one, Dean needed to get that part of Cas forming quickly, something good to counteract all that doubt festering up. 

Quickly chasing after the memory before he could lose, Dean wondered why that one was so much shorter. How the universe hated Cas apparently just as much as Dean. The awful, gut-wrenching memories took forever to finish, but the happy one finished in just a blink of an eye. 

And thank fucking goodness that memory didn’t merge with all that doubt. Sure, Cas did doubt their friendship after releasing Lucifer. Yet, he didn’t have any reason to worry about that. God, if only Dean knew how much that meant to Cas, he would have done something sooner. Chick-flick moments be damned, Cas deserves better. 

Dean followed the memory, waiting for something to hover near it long enough that Dean should be able to merge the two together. Yet, that didn’t seem to happen. Granted, Dean did give the benefit of the doubt. Cas was right, they did lead exciting lives, so something nice like this wasn’t as common. Plus, Dean couldn’t exactly tell time trying to mend together Cas’s angel-soul. 

The benefit of the doubt thing didn’t last long. 

Barely anything was coming close to the memory. Most other wind-memories flew away faster after hitting it, as if utterly repelled by it. Even Dean probably had more chick-flick memories than Cas, since Sam tended to drag them out of him. This was stupid. The moment Cas wakes up, Dean’s planning some sort of intervention or some crap like that. Sam will know how to do that. 

Finally some memory hovered alongside, and Dean did not waste a moment to reach out to it and put some power behind the good things in life. It made Dean wonder if there was going to be a section about how Cas regretting learning human emotions after always getting the rotten end of things. 

The memory, instead of being a cooperating nice memory it should be, leaned into his soul rather than following where Dean wanted it to go. No, Dean didn’t want- 

_I chuckle, burying my hand into the soft feathers-_

No, Dean wasn’t going to through any memories he didn’t have to. That’s Cas personal stuff, so the memory needed to merge into the other one instead- 

_The wing situation is quite strange, one Dean and I will have to face together, as we’ve already been thrown into the back of a truck. Now with our wings physical, there’s no practical way to hide them. The others will have questions on why they’ve become physical in the first place, not that I’ll know the answer to any question, but we’ll figure that out with time._

_Though Dean’s wings are certainly an oddity, as he’s not an angel. Some of Michael’s grace must have infused with him in the sigil, taking the form of wings within in the human. The power he emits may be celestial, yet I know it’s not grace, so Dean must have landed in some unique gray area. Certainly abnormal._

_Although, when has anything ever been normal with the Winchesters involved?_

Dean pulled himself from the memory, and to see such a recent memory. . . well, Dean felt like a creep. Dean quickly changed course and pushed the acceptance memory into the wing one. Though, Dean couldn’t be blamed for being curious now. Dean remembered every time his wings were touched and- 

Oh. The truck bed. The truck bed Dean woke up in, when he saw the freaking huge-ass appendages hanging off of his shoulders. Cas must’ve woken up at some point during that ride, and man that had to be uncomfortable ride. Especially because Cas didn’t seem to know what happened at that point. 

The two memories merged, the blue light shimmering stronger than when it originally had with doubt’s first merge. Which, okay, so maybe it wasn’t totally uncomfortable if the memory could merge with acceptance. Which, also maybe a good thing. If Cas liked touching his wings, and simply stopped as to be polite or something, then that would be good. Dean wouldn’t mind. 

Cutting off that train of thought before Dean’s own warm, but very flustered, sensation grew out of hand, Dean still tried to find another memory to merge with the happy memories. Yet this time, even more memories bounced off. Some not even able to get close enough to touch it. 

Which was so fucking stupid that Dean’s going to skip the entire intervention thing and just slap some sense into Cas. 

However, Dean’s frustration with Cas about the lack of good memories died a bit when it turned out to be sort of helpful. Depending on how some memories practically ran away from happiness, Dean actually managed to merge a few memories together without having to live through them. So, yeah, technically helpful, but also definitely going to change once Dean finished with healing Cas. 

Dean’s sour mood couldn’t exactly improve though, since everything grouped together after being repelled by happiness usually wasn’t something Dean was glad to be restored again. 

The anger glob soon formed, and Dean saw it starting to gravitate over to doubt, regret forming soon after. Which Dean supposed, yeah, nothing anyone could do to get out of regret. But then, pulses fucking grief tried to claw and drag Dean down. Dean didn’t even want to think about what was in there as he avoid the dense, prickly ball of pain. 

Yet despite his avoidance, it was irrefutably obvious when anger oozed its way towards grief, regret constantly already hovering nearby by the time doubt crawled its way over. Everything got pulled in towards that sickening cloud of grief, except for the happiness thing Dean stayed with, and Dean hoped they might find some blind therapist- maybe a hunter who used to be a therapist?- because no way anyone not professionally trained can tackle the mess of a billion-year-old-something angel’s mind. 

If this were Dean, everything would probably be revolving around self-hatred. Dean could admit that. Yet Cas didn’t even hate himself, not too much anyway, and he didn’t have that burning determination to get up and do something right because he had to do something right today. No, he had this heavy slop of grief that just looked like something that could pin a heavy-weight champion down to a bed for weeks. 

Though, everything that wasn’t orbiting the depressing emotions all started to slowly come together near the acceptance. And when forgiveness and mercy started to form, they shone much brighter than the sad sappy blackish light of regret and grief. 

Suck on that, stupid depressing emotions. 

As much as Dean wanted to watch the budding good emotions- a few of which tried to merge with Dean again who tried to ward off the duel sense of pride that he’s been making Cas happy and the depressed thought that the happiest Cas has been is when he is stuck to bomb-waiting-to-explode Dean Winchester- the effort to stay inside Cas began to grow considerably. 

His body somehow started to pull him back, and while he warded this off for a while, Dean relented when he almost couldn’t stop himself from falling into a memory. He’s far from done, all the emotions are still mostly separate from each other and there’s still a lot of memories unsure of where they belong, but hopefully things will gravitate to each other as Dean rests. 

It took a moment when Dean slipped into his body again. Everything felt heavy and thick, unused. His fingers, which felt like dried-out burnt sausages, twitched as his eyes slowly focused. His shoulder must be wider than normal and wasn’t his wings lighter than this? 

“Whoa,” His voice scratched his throat, and Dean coughed after annoying his vocals cords with that deep grunt. Shit, how did Cas speak like that all the time? “Do demons feel like this when body switching?” 

Dean stood, his wings saving him from losing balance when he tried to walk. It took him a moment, but then stopped walking like Cas. He had stupid bowlegs, and Sammy could make fun of him all he wanted, but Dean walked like that and that’s not changing. 

Pausing, Dean threw a smile over to Cas. “I think I went a little far with the whole ‘walk in someone’s shoes’ saying. Doncha think?” 

Of course, the still and sleeping body of Cas didn’t reply, yet Dean’s smile still slipped down a bit before he continued out of the kitchen. Sam’s gone, so it must’ve been long enough where Sam decided Dean’s fine or something happened. 

Dean really hoped it was the first one, but it would be his luck if it was the latter. 

However, now that Dean adjusted to the fact he was in his own heart-beating body, Dean’s first objective was the kitchen. Second objective; eat everything he could get his hands on and then drink a gallon of anything. Any liquid would be absolutely amazing. 

Third objective will get around to finding Sam. Dean trusted his little brother had everything under control, and if not, would pull him out of Cas for some help. Sam’s been doing a lot, but Dean won’t let him think for one second that he can’t ask for help since Dean has a jumped-up soul. 

Objective four, well, Dean planned for that one to get back to Cas. Yet a certain fatigue lingered in his bones, and Dean doubted he’ll be able to connect to Cas if such a tiredness persists or gets worse. Even if he had the raw energy to connect, every memory he touched would swarm him if he didn’t have the ability to shut them out. Cas will be fixed; Dean just needed some rest stops in between. 

In the meantime, memories should still be naturally collecting now that Dean’s nudged everything in the right way. It’s fine, everything’s good, he could take a break. It’s fine. 

The kitchen didn’t seem to have anything, although it was empty, and Dean couldn’t complain about that. He definitely did not feel like putting up with some hunter’s wariness. He’s still human, just a human who happened to get a shot of angel grace when killing an emotionless archangel. Shouldn’t they be happy he wasn’t Michael? 

Whatever, Dean’s stomached demanded food and that he stops questioning things so he could eat. Dean could hardly disagree and tore through the cupboard and refrigerator. Jerky? Lasted a couple of minutes as he looked for more. Leftover pie? Absolutely his and devoured. Not a whole lot of leftovers of any kind, but Dean munched on some chips as he kept looking. 

After eating slices of cheese, Dean called it. He drank enough between his different foods and now his third objective activated. Find Sam, make sure everything’s smooth sailing, and sleep until the cows came home. 

Dean strolled out of the kitchen, and if Sam wasn’t in the library or war room, then Dean would check his room. Then he’d worry about where he is, and if he doesn’t answer his phone then Sam’s gonna figure out he does not want to be on the receiving end of a pissed off, hyped-up soul. Dean just needed his luck to hold out before something else happens. 

Thankfully, his little brother was in the library. And since Dean wasn’t a jerk, despite what certain people may think, he didn’t go over and interrupt the conversation between Sam and another hunter. Besides, if Sam wanted to lead these hunters, then by all means. Dean had no desire to help lead them, and he didn’t want their heads to turn to him whenever they had a problem. 

His life was his own, and while Dean was more than willing to pull someone out of claws of some monster, Dean sure has hell never meant to be a part of the rebuilding and improving upon that life. His job was the vulgar, fast and vicious live-or-die part. 

At one point of time, Dean would say that it was because he was a soldier, only meant to do the brainless, brute strength sort of thing. 

Now, Dean smiled and sent his brother a thumbs-up, scoffing when Sam made that I’m-going-to-check-up-on-you face. Dean just shrugged and nodded back, slipping into the hallway to get some shut eye. The bland cemented and tiled walls of the Bunker passed him, and Dean’s feathers grazed across them. It might not be homey, but it was theirs. 

Since, after all, Dean wasn’t a man of the fine things. He did not need to be babied. He protected people, anyone under the threat of things lurking in the dark, but he protected his family. Whatever the price. So far though, that price has not yet demanded his memory-foam bed. 

Dean kept the light off as he kicked off his shoes and jumped onto his mattress, not bothering with the covers as his eyes already decided to stop seeing things. By the time he wakes up, Cas’s soul should be even more stable and that much closer to waking up. That much closer for the Winchesters to continue their Harry Potter marathon. 

It might not be horror or even Dr. Sexy, but Dean was kinda looking forward to it. 

Dean body continued to slip further into sleep, into that numb sensation that meant his body has started to work on repairs, started to get his soul some more juice. His wings itched, but Dean din’t have the will to fix that. He was already sleeping on his stomach, his wings shouldn’t be so picky. 

His thoughts drifted to Cas, and Dean saw a pleasant image of the winged man tilt his head at Dean, wordlessly lifting a pair of cowboy boots as if they had some sort of writing he couldn’t read. 

But he fell asleep before the image could grow into anything else.


	19. Dean?

His stomach growled. 

He also had to pee. 

Badly. 

Groaning, Dean hauled himself upright, mindful of his wings, both his bladder and stomach making him very aware how he needed to fix a few things. And despite a growing thirst in his throat agreeing with his stomach to go to the kitchen, the bathroom was the first stop for Dean. 

He put his shoes back on, and figuring his clothes smelt fine since he wasn’t even really in his body most of yesterday, Dean beelined for the bathroom. No one else crossed paths with him in the bathroom, thankfully, and Dean did his business without a problem. Though he also decided to brush his teeth after neglecting them for so long. Amazing how Sam could talk to him at all. 

Bladder appeased; Dean strolled on over to the kitchen. Again, no one there, and Dean had not one complaint. It wouldn’t be surprising if Dean woke up at some absurd time. He certainly ruined whatever sleep cycle his body normally functioned on. Then again, being awake during the day didn’t serve him any purpose, so he didn’t need to have a cycle keeping him awake during the day. 

Humming, Dean decided to make pancakes as he drained a glass of water. The impulse struck him suddenly, but Cas’s soul was making progress on his own and Dean’s wings itched with the rest of him to do something other than sitting, any sort of physical movement. His hands twitched, and Dean barely even thought about it as he took out a bowl. 

He set to work mixing, deciding to make a batch for about fifteen, maybe more, people. His hands worked almost independently from his mind, not good for wandering thoughts. He thought about the Impala. How he wanted to drive her again. He wanted to feel her purr as he eased her onto the highway. He wanted to see shine in the sun like the badass she is. 

He wanted to smirk at someone when their face slackened in awe as they passed his Baby. He wanted to nod at them when they silently asked him if the sleek Chevy was his. He wanted them to grin back, confirming to what he already knew, that there was no other car out there like her. 

Perhaps when the whole thing with Cas settled down, he could give her the attention she deserved. And while it might be painful, he’d take a page out of Cas’s book and modify the seats so he could drive her. 

Heck, maybe as a celebration for Cas not being dead, again, Dean’ll take him on a drive. Since, Cas may or not be right, Dean hasn't exactly missed going into town. Dean couldn’t drink even without the wings, so bars are pointless. His wings gave him the ability to fly, which scary as all hell at first, but Dean found himself attached to them as any other limb, so now, Dean Winchester, will never have another one night stand. 

How much of all that did Dean really even care about that anyway? He was getting old, although he’s actually really young for the whole ‘ageless’ thing. 

A smile tugged at his lips at thinking where he and Cas could go. He always wanted to see the northern lights. It may seem strange, but they were the one thing that seemed so supernatural and otherworldly yet turned out to be something completely natural. 

And he was a flying angel-man, a little mojo and Dean will weasel his way into any place without anyone remembering. Maybe unethical, especially for a hunter, but Dean deserved an indulgence. Plus, the flight should be easier for Cas since he’ll have a bit of spending grace while Sam, Jack, and Mom could all book a flight like normal people. 

Winchester family vacation. Only needed to avert several apocalypses to get there. 

Dean huffed, shaking the thoughts out as he flipped the pancakes. His wings itched as he ate one of his own as he worked through the rest of the batch, then another of his own. Tempted slightly to butter it, Dean opted not to as it still tasted fine and Dean’s almost done anyway. 

He left all the pancakes on two big plates, and he figured that’ll all a hunter needed to see before taking a couple of flapjacks for himself. Dean squeezed about twenty pancakes from the batter, all fairly plate-sized, not counting the two he already ate and the third he picked up as he strolled towards the medical ward with another glass of water in his hand. 

After wolfing down the pancake and gulping down every drop of water, Dean entered the medical ward and set his glass on some random table. He’d pick it up later, since Dean has an angel to worry about right now. 

His rolling chair hadn’t been moved from yesterday- assuming midnight has passed- and Dean flopped right back into it. As he straightened onto the chair, deciding to let his hand rest on Cas’s neck again, a faint ache staggered up his spine. It’d be gone in a moment when Dean left his body, but perhaps tomorrow Dean’ll drag in a comfier chair or something. 

Dean only took one deep breath before slipping into Cas. The cold, notably the lack of it, struck him at once. Where there was once nothing but a void, sparks flickered and essence pulsed within Cas. Sure, it was still cold and that prickled as memories hit him, but there obviously something here. Cas was here, and Dean will make sure he wakes up. 

Although, Dean brightened when the first part of Cas he made out was happiness. It burned brightly, even if not as big as the globs of doubt and grief and anger, and even branched out a bit. There was peace and gratitude, and with a slight thrill, Dean saw some form of love sweeping out over all these good emotions. Kindness looked a little weird though, it didn’t act like the other emotions, it seemed more like a blur. A haze which seeped off happiness, but even from grief too. 

Yet it still didn’t look, didn’t feel like Cas. It almost seemed like looking at the parts of a car that needed to be inserted, but all still separated. The metaphor might be bit on the nose, but the thing that made Cas, well, Cas just wasn’t there. Just a bunch of emotions that floated around after memories of that emotion tied together. 

Regardless, Dean went to work. Thousands of memories still flew by him, and the emotions of Cas still flickered and dimmed to be something solid and tangible as normal Cas felt like. Everything seemed to know what to gravitate to, and Dean just gave them a little push to seal the deal. 

Eventually, the mass of regret, doubt, grief, and grew until they collided together creating a nasty pile Dean hoped he wouldn’t have to delve into. And Dean was sure that if he’d been in his own body, his stomach agreed with that hope at seeing fear growing off the clump like some sort of vile tumor. 

Though Dean kept a fierce hope that eventually the better emotions would outgrow the moldy ones. They certainly shined brighter, and though Dean didn’t know what that meant, it had to be something good. Even if they took their time compared to the gross ones, something seemed to be developing. Something had to be. 

That something really did take its time, as the first sense of tiredness began to creep over him, a slight tug to go back to his body. He ignored it, since Dean’s current sense of time either sucked at its job or it’s only been about an hour or two inside Cas. A lot of memories merged to their right place, probably half of the memories of all of Cas’s had a place now. 

Besides, now with the emotions stronger, that only made things go along faster. Dean barely needed to nudge wind memories to get them in, and it happened on its own a lot too. Most of the emotions, despite having broken apart in the earlier stages, now hugged each other. Dean almost thought about trying to understand, if they broke apart because the memories within were too different and now were similar enough to combine, but he decided not to think about it any further than that. 

Fatigue prickled along his mind, soul Dean supposed, trying to dig in and pull him back. Dean resisted, because now the happy emotions picked up a little more steam. If Dean had to guess, almost three-quarters of all memories had found their place and Cas seemed more Cas than he has in what seems like forever. Everything was coming together, taking shape. 

Even the memories that hadn’t gotten the memo that teamwork was fun, and they shouldn’t try to be lone wolves, stayed around the cluster of emotions, either the gross or happy ones. Some even whirled around both, as if repulsed and gravitating to both, and Dean had to admit he was a little worried about those guys. 

Yet something was happening with the happy ones. They all started to spin kinda, like they were forming a doughnut, and migrating their way over to the moldy disgusting emotions. Despite the ever-increasing urge to fling himself out of Cas and into his body, Dean stayed. He needed to know what happened, it was probably crucial to getting Cas up. 

Wee bit of tiredness won’t stop Dean from helping Cas, not by a long shot. 

So when the doughnut of happy emotions got big enough, when a strong furious yank kept trying to rip him out of Cas, the doughnut descended onto the rotten emotions, caging it. 

And shit really got going after that. 

The catalyst Cas needed along, and emotions eagerly soaked up the rest of the memories. The happy emotions thinned and trapped the rancid ones. The closer a gross emotion would get to the spherical cage, it basically powered them up. Faster, more determined and brighter the emotions spun, sealing in the bad stuff. It was pretty awesome to watch as Cas started to take shape, something that Dean could definitely identify as Cas, even if underdeveloped than normal. 

Yet they weren’t totally succeeding. Doubt would spill out and the whole thing trembled, until Dean eased it back in after pushing through the burning stabbing needles attempting to force him back into his own body. 

While the happy emotions certainly glowed brighter and had extra ‘oomph’ in them, there needed to be something else. Dean knew there needed to be something else, because he could see it trying to happen. The sphere would get a little thin, try to thicken up, but then one of the remaining memories stab at it before flying off. 

His soul burned, but Dean reached out for one of the remaining memories. He had to fix this, then Cas would basically need to settle, and everything would be back in its proper place after all this time. He could rest afterwards, just a little bit more of a push- 

Dean snapped back, wings absolutely on fire as his tailbone hammered down on the ground. He sat there, dazed and leaning back against another bed simply panting. His blood raced, his sternum now a snare drum with his heart slamming its two drumsticks onto it as fast as possible. A wave of tiny black dots swarmed his vision, and a faint ringing hummed underneath the pounding of Dean’s blood vessels. 

But god, his wings, his wings felt awful. Like someone rubbed a cheese grater over each and every single feather. Dean even knew of the awkward and uncomfortable position they must be in on the floor like this, yet he didn’t care; he couldn’t care. The bones throbbed back there, every muscle experiencing some of the worst Charlie Horses in his life. It was all Dean could do just to breathe. 

So Dean panted, he accepted the pain and didn’t try to actively stop it. There was something about acceptance, acknowledging that this was part of the process, that made it easier to handle. Made it easy not to squirm to see if moving would make the horrible burn leave his wings. Made it easier to listen to his heartbeat begin to slow instead of his wheezing gasps and pained little grunts that escaped his lips. Made it nicer when his eyes focused again, even if it was a little blurry. 

Dean burnt out all the energy his soul had to offer, and now he had to suffer the consequences. It wasn’t like he could burn more soul to heal burnt soul. 

Although he would have loved to get his hands- soul, whatever- on that memory. 

The pain did eventually fade, kinda. It came in waves. The pain faded as a wave of numbed fuzziness entangled his limbs. Then it everything started hurting again when the numbness faded, but less severe than the time before. Yet again though, another wave of numbness just drowned it out. And now Dean couldn’t figure out what position his legs were in, or arms, his wings weren’t really registering too. Though Dean also didn’t care, his caring-ness must have been numbed out too. 

So really, when Dean vaguely acknowledged sleep looming over him, ready to settle over him, Dean couldn’t not accept it. Since, after all, sleep tended to help whenever his body got cranky. Sleep was good for body, mind, and soul. Hopefully, sleep emphasized on the soul part. 

Dean really really, kinda fuzzily, hoped for it. 

Dean startled, and the massive shears some person, looked like a person but he had a crawling sense it was an angel, was about to use to cut off his wings vanished. The lights shined down on him, though that didn’t stop the shiver trembling down each and every single feather. 

If, for some reason, Dean figured out and wanted to get his wings removed, that was not the way he was going to do it. Oh, no way in hell was that going to happen. 

Blinking, Dean glanced around and regained his bearings. Almost immediately two things two out above the rest. One, his stomach was not happy with him as it growled and lurched around in some desperate attempt to get him to eat. Two, he was in the medical ward, on the bed he probably fell against yesterday. Probably yesterday, Dean’s memory on the whole thing was being very unhelpful. 

With a sharp shake to clear his head, he noticed the sandwich on the table. A loaded, lettuce, tomato, cheese, and maybe that was ham, but Dean was fine with turkey, sandwich. Oh, oh it was beautiful. 

And, more importantly, it was all his. 

Dean dug into the sandwich with all the vigor and manners of a wolf. He did stop, once, to chug down half of the water glass next to him, and then he resumed to eat all of it as fast as humanely possible. Somehow the distinct flavor of ham still registered in his mind, but with tomato juice and mayo squeezing out with every bite, Dean just enjoyed the meal. 

His stomach grumbled happily once Dean ravished the sandwich to nothing but crumbs on his shirt. He reached for the water glass and finished that too, though his thirst wasn’t as appeased as his stomach. Dean should probably go get something more to drink, but Dean’s soul could take care of that. 

Standing, stretching his wings very quickly and mindful of the wall, this was now the time to get Cas all together again. And Naomi thought it would be impossible, incredibly difficult for him. Add some determination then of course Dean could patch his best friend quickly, it was his best friend after all. 

The sensation of Cas’s neck barely scratched Dean’s hand before his soul slipped inside. He really tried not to be too hopeful, as he witnessed firsthand yesterday that the cage the happy, lively emotions set up around the putrid ones wasn’t totally operational. Yet a strong bitterness wound up his soul when the ugly ones had significantly seeped out of the cage, despite the passionately working cage trying to keep them all corralled. 

Though when Dean saw one of those pesky memories still flying around and making a mess of things the good guys, he knew they caused this. Since no matter how fiercely the good emotions worked on their sphere, it couldn’t contain everything. With that loss, they weren’t shining nearly as blindingly as before, more of a determined glow. 

So Dean fixed them all up, anger much more wild and lashing out now that it was stronger, trying to resist Dean, but he got it under control. The other emotions moved easier than that, although grief sung a different tune. Despite not being as far out of the doughnut as the others, it resisted movement. As if it was some solid and not a ball of condensed memories. 

Dean didn’t want to think about that too much. 

Instead, Dean went after one of those vile memories. He’d stabilize it and make it so Cas could get up. This was it, the last thing until everything was smooth sailing. It had to be. 

The moment Dean caught up, the moment when he stretched his soul and began to slip his awareness into that wind, a fleeting thought informed him this might be a bigger thing than- 

_The heavens, overlapping yet independent of each other, press up against each other. After a thorough search, all the walls remain intact. The souls which long for others, companions perhaps in their earthly life- though not one soul could possibly know it is in Heaven as joyous memories replay before them- never stop in trying to reconnect to others._

_I enter into one of the heavens, Alexander the Great as the humans call him, and mend his heaven. The soul glows, full of passion, and constantly tries to reconnect to the heavens surrounding his. Most notably towards Hephaestion’s heaven, causing small rifts between the barriers holding them apart._

_By my will, my grace seeps within and heals the fixtures. Though most angels and my superiors consider it a waste of grace and unnecessary, I weave tendrils of grace into the walls, strengthening them beyond than what they were before. Guarding souls, observing their heavens, never ends, but the grace enforced barriers are superior to the ones simply mended when needed to. Superior enough to be notable, enough to where the Host lets the areas go on longer without observation._

_Pulling out and flying away from the heaven, I keep watch over the others. My wings dutifully flap and soar, and even though they have no physical form to push at space, it is not nearly as effortless as it should be. I focus on flying steadily as I oversee the heavens I have been assigned. No matter my condition, I must perform to the highest of standards._

_Compared to typical conditions, this shift seems to stretch longer than the others. Almost immediately at the start of my shift, the barriers of multiple heavens were soon to collapse into each other, the mending the previous angel had done almost nonexistent. For that first half of the shift, a languid burden fell upon my wings. A weight that eased as the heavens I’ve been assigned stayed stable and needed less intervention the more I worked._

_An effort that translates to me outperforming all the other angels on guard duty. A pattern that my superiors must have noticed. It must be enough; it certainly must be enough now. Other angels of my rank who have also served as dutifully have been granted permission, and now if I ask, I will also be granted. I must be, despite all the foolish rumors circulating._

_This shift draws to a close soon, and after I receive new orders, I will ask permission, even if I have to wait until completion of my new task to be allowed, which would be beneficiary if it were to be a task that my grace has time to heal. My grace recovery and efficiency distinguishes itself from the other angels, so if my superiors deem me it to go be of service for another grace-taxing task, I must be fit enough to do it. It’s from their orders I have had the opportunity to strengthen my grace, so I am grateful for it. As they must be grateful for my diligent work._

_The precise moment the century shift ends, I twist and thrust towards my superiors. Most angels without the need for an offices must reside in a soul’s heaven to fulfill their tasks and time, yet the superiors have a complex surrounding the throne of God. They, the most worthy of all the angels, receive guidance and wisdom directly from Joshua, the one who communes with our Father. They reflect upon it in their designated offices and then lead the rest of the angels on the righteous path._

_Zachariah, my direct superior, has been waiting for me as I enter. I bow in submission, respectfully folding my wings despite the ache resounding through my grace. It requires no extra attention, not when it slowed me and caused my arrival to be late._

_“You did good, those heavens have never looked stronger.” Enochian syllables fill the air, Zachariah's grace boring into mine. “And you look well enough to go through a training session with Ishim. Dismissed.”_

_“Sir?” My wings didn’t react to his words, yet with my weakened grace, acceptance to the order comes with a struggle. “Permission for a request?”_

_Zachariah peruses me, his grace fully alert and scrutinizes every aspect he can perceive. I stand respectfully, waiting. He must be taking note of how hard I worked, the toil it left on me. Even as my grace generates more energy, mending itself, the effect of strengthening the individual heavens remains on my grace._

_“What do you want, Cas-ti-el?” He drags the name out, and my wings press closer to me as my head drops lower as a sign of deference for the acknowledgment. Yet the way he said my name, the harsh tone, makes me wonder if I really am performing as I am expected. I must be able to give more, since surely a superior such as Zachariah wouldn’t pay any heed to the rumors and instead focus on work performance._

_“I am seeking a conversation with Joshua. I wish to-”_

_“Enough.” Zachariah raises a hand, and my next words vanish. “You’re done wasting my time. You are dismissed.”_

_A crack of electricity zips through my grace, startling me out of my respectful position. Zachariah stiffens at my reaction, straightening up over me. His grace hums, energy flowing as he faces me, and I lower my head and wings again, quickly resuming a humble stance to his might._

_“Is there something you wish to say?” Zachariah probes me with words for now, as his grace continues to strengthen despite my meek posture. “Come on Castiel, please do tell.”_

_I say nothing. Perhaps I may reiterate my request, but now I have sabotaged my chances of conversing with Joshua within this millennia. Maybe if I work twice as hard to prove myself loyal, then I’ll-_

_Zachariah’s wings unfurl as his lion head snarls, the radiant white wings arching up higher as mine press against my back. “Did you not like that name? Maybe you’ll respond to some translations of it. How about in newest ape language that translates your name? One who is removed forcibly? Don’t like that one? How picky.”_

_“Sir, please-”_

_“Silence, he who tarnishes purity. Oh, you responded to that one? Is that what we should call you now?” Zachariah’s wings loom over, grace pushing against the edges of this office. Shocks, crackles of electricity shoot down my grace in response and I’m not sure how I should respond. Does he really put so much worth into the languages of humans? But- That doesn’t-_

_His grace freezes for a moment, and perhaps he has worked out his frustration and realized how much validation he’s putting into the human languages. The human language must be mimicking from the first one, where a loose translation only meant ‘one who strays’, and it has grown out of hand. Yet I must also have not been reassuring enough. I am loyal to Heaven, and I will not betray our Father. I have worked so hard, but perhaps the-_

_“Then there’s my personal favorite.” His grace narrows in on mine, and I further emphasize my stance of submission. “One who falls from God, it’s Latin. That’s quite specific, don’t you think so?”_

_I wait a moment to be sure I am meant to speak and carefully choose my words. “These languages continue to derive terms from older languages-”_

_“You don’t get it, Castiel. These languages are a reflection of our Father’s will, they are as He meant it to be.” Zachariah leans in closer, and he must notice how my grace whirls around at his words and my inability to control it. “You’re not talking to Joshua, because our Father doesn’t care for you. You have a job to work, and that’s final.”_

_My wings snap out and fly me away, to the training courts. Zachariah must have wanted me gone, as there are no more words after final. Ishim, who clearly has been waiting, almost attacks me immediately. We are friends though, so he gives me a second to react. Friends do that, I know for certain Ishim isn’t one of the angels who thinks much of the translations the humans give my name._

_Yet I cannot help but to glance at him differently. He fights vigorously, excluding grace into the battle as I strain to match his power exertions. The pace is brutal, even faster than what demons or humans could create. So is Ishim pushing himself while I’ve had the misfortune to be at a time like this? Or does he resent me? Does he think I have some flaw that needs to be fixed, one that he simply cannot find?_

_All the while, as I parry blows with him, waiting for an opportunity to attack rather than dedicating the strength to force him to fight defensively, something heavy forms deep within my grace. All the way next to the core of my being, something that strange grates against my grace. Something dark and foreign starts funneling my grace, directing my actions._

_An opening appears, it’s a dishonorable tactic to use our wings, pure connections to the Host and to God’s holy light, as a weapon, but I find myself moving before I truly comprehend it. As I move, against the customs of Heaven, I sense a coldness clinging to me, though the temperature does not affect me, as I defeat Ishim._

_“Again.” I flex my wings, the weariness in them earlier numbed by Zachariah’s words. “Don’t leave yourself vulnerable to any type of attack.”_

_Ishim’s tone turns harsh as he recollects himself. “We are not supposed to-”_

_“Assumptions in battle will get you killed.” I face him, and that dark thing only grows and entangles itself within my grace at Ishim’s quick and harsh words. Though, I make no move to suppress it. “Again.”_

_He attacks first, his actions smooth and fast. His technique leaves him vulnerable many times for fractions of seconds, not long enough for me to attack, but I am patient. I dodge steadily, reflecting on Zachariah’s words. Father does everything with purpose, I would not exist if I didn’t have a reason to serve Heaven. Zachariah must be wrong. I must be desired by Him, for I would not exist otherwise._

_My grace buzzes, urging for action, and I swiftly divide it and begin my attack. Predicting Ishim’s next vulnerable spot, and while it leaves before I hit it, it distracts him well enough as I attack. Subduing him with other dishonorable tactics before defeating him again. This time, I say nothing as he recovers._

_I am an angel. I serve God. My entire creation revolves around serving God, I would never do anything foolish enough to break my purpose for existence. I serve God before all else, even before the orders and words of my superiors._

_I turn my attention away from Ishim for a moment. Perhaps I simply need a disconnect, a moment to steady myself. Yet as my awareness stretches out searching for a distraction, I spot glimpses of other angels darting away from me. The whispers come to me though, I hear them before the angels can hide them away. That dark twisted thing growing as I catch their conversations._

_“Something changed in Castiel.”_

_“. . . grace seems different.”_

_“How could he fight like as an. . .”_

_“Dishonorable, all the way down to his core.”_

_“Is it time?”_

_I intercept Ishim’s sneak attack. With a quick counteract, I defeat him yet again. I serve God, as the rest of my brothers and sisters do. I serve God more faithfully than them. I love His masterpiece as He said to despite their languages, I do not complain, I toil for Him because I love Him, and I do not have to listen to the other angels. Only if it aligns with God’s will, His plan, shall I listen._

_They will see what I am. They will one day know that the humans’ names for me mean nothing. They will accept in time. They must realize it eventually._

_Until then, I am loyal only to God._

Cold. Oh fucking goddammit, Dean was so cold! 

Like icy claws gutting him, Dean reeled away from it, escaping the entire thing. Damnit! This was- damnit! Dean couldn’t help it, couldn’t deny urge, and Dean left. He blinked back into his body, all the nice warm cells and blood accepting him to where, under normal circumstances, he couldn’t even feel the difference. Where he shouldn’t feel the light waves, pure grace form thing bristle and rub and itch terribly. 

Dean’s wings twitched, not that he bothered to try and control that, as he stood and paced. Hurriedly stroking his arms, desperate to get some warmth back because of freaking course the cold followed him out of Cas. His skin itched, uncomfortable and limiting as it clung to him and stuck to him. It just felt so wrong, like some barrier encasing him. Something that was different, something other than him. 

Scratching at the back of his hand, nasty and dark thoughts crept and fleeted, more of a sense than anything. His stomach churned, a sharp brackish odor festering in his throat that almost had him gagging, and it left muscles in Dean’s face twitching in utter disgust. 

His wings pressed up and ticked against his back, though Dean continued to pace. Trying to ignore the shivering feeling, the cold and the urge to escape the confines of his body, Dean placed names to the emotions. Yet, Dean just wanted to run. Shut it all out, maybe go kill something, just put some distance between this _thing_ and himself. 

Dean flung his head side to side, desperately trying to get his thoughts in order. Was this Cas or his soul buffing things up? Mostly things just seemed to stay Cas, but this, it prickled everywhere with a foul scent, clinging mercilessly to him. 

Anger, first one off the bat. The tightness stuck in his muscles, something he can’t relax. Or maybe that was fear? The high-strung nerves and instincts ready to bolt at any moment. What caused his stomach to moan inside him? His mouth still stank of that dry nasty air that he couldn’t seem to push out of him, which left that lingering urge to gag inside him. 

Disgust then, anger that fed disgust. That made sense, and when Dean imagined another angel appearing suddenly, as if they could still fly, a tremor wracked his arms and fists balled. Those damned dicks, sometimes they could be worse than demons. At least demons were predictable and didn’t create elaborate illusions or anything like that. 

Which made sense, Dean absentmindedly rubbed his arms again, Cas was totally justified at being pissed at Zachariah for being denied on such a stupid thing. Then to see that stupid thing reflected in who he thought was his friend, and in the other angels, that’s disgustingly horrifying. All the angels that Cas saw value in, had value in something downright stupid. So figuring out that Cas’s brothers and sisters were absolute assholes? Yeah, Dean could see why Cas was so appalled. 

That didn’t make sense of the fleeing urge, which Dean finally got under control, or the cold ensnaring him. It was powerful, the desire to be alone, to separate everything, especially from those assholes. Which, while understandable, was really kinda out of the blue for Cas. Perhaps he needed to think like old-school, standoffish, also kinda of an asshole, Cas. 

But that made less sense! Because that Cas seemed to still trust the other angels, or at least worked with them, rather than run for the hills. Cas’s distrust for other angels didn’t happen until, like, Naomi, or that was what Dean used to think anyway. Apparently, this issue predated humanity’s and Dean’s ‘corrupting influence’ on Cas. 

So what could do this? What was this? Dean rubbed his arms again, kneading his fingers into the flesh of his shoulder. This heavy cold, deep disgust and anger, yet instead of wanting to throw punches or shout or something that Dean could relate to, all of that caused was the urge to alone. How did that- 

Oh, Dean’s wings drooped down in the realization. Cas felt alienated. It sounded so simple. Alienated. Different. _Wrong_. Abandoned by his brothers and sisters. Desperate and finding solace in following his father. 

Dean glanced over at Cas, scratching the back of his hand. He attention snapped to it when a sharp sting spiked from the touch. He was bleeding, not much, but angry red lines crisscrossed the skin, quite a few of them bleeding. Dean didn’t even notice. 

Wasn’t important anyway. Not when things just seemed to fit now. How Cas could watch other angels die and kill them almost without guilt, when he claimed for them to be his brothers and sisters so often. He didn’t really care for them, and who would blame him for that? Angels never treated him more than scum that they could control like a pawn. 

They made him unwanted. 

Shivers bounced and burrowed into Dean, and he sat down on the rolling chair again. Was this why he never really stayed around? Never asked for help? Did Cas really think, even before the Lucifer possessing thing, that they didn’t want him around? 

Dean winced, because now, yeah, Dean saw where such thoughts could come from. The Winchesters, who defy Death to the point where Dean killed him, could fail to have a basic conversation of ‘Hey, I want you to be around and not just because you’re a super powerful being’. At least in Dean’s case, but Sam apparently never had this conversation either. 

Dean should have definitely said something about that after kicking Cas out of the Bunker, because that really probably didn’t help. At all. That one was so on him. 

Slowly, hesitant now, Dean reached out to Cas again. With practiced ease, his soul slipped into Cas, and Dean saw it now. Saw why guilt dripped out of the sphere, why the doubt kept pushing past, the way anger lashed in a similar way to the happy and sad emotions alike, how guilt sludges out slower than the rest. 

Dean saw the other memories now too. He recognized the one he experienced, and it definitely was the biggest, but other ones that cut everything up. They almost combined together like a long string, yet despite being so similar and close, they weren’t merging. Weren’t becoming some core part of Cas, instead they were actively stopping Cas from reforming. 

That thought settled disturbingly in him, clinging raggedly to his soul, that some part of Cas was actively undermining him, literally stopping him from living. 

Dean couldn’t remove the memories either. If he touched them too much, he just went in them. Dean didn’t even want to think about if the memories went inside himself. Would that make him part of Cas? Would he carry this unwantedness in him? Dean acknowledged he had some self-hate issues, but he mostly warded off this unwanted isolation thing Cas has by saving other people, by doing good while also taking care of Sam. Dean had no idea how to remove this. 

A flash of molten heat drove the thoughts out when again Cas’s doubt slivered out of the pure emotions trying to contain it. Cas was almost stable again, and yet this stupid thing stood in his way. Dean had archangel grace-human soul energy going on, but he still couldn’t do anything about. This was just _so goddamn frustrating!_

The anger died almost instantly though when Cas’s being trembled. The good emotions dimmed suddenly and exponentially. Anger shook violently and doubt puddled with no resistance out of the protective sphere. Grief puffed up like a foul stench, as regret and guilt wailed and moaned quietly. The whole ready to come apart at any moment and no no no, Dean couldn’t let that happen. He had to stop this. 

Dean didn’t think about it, he was in too much of a rush to think about it. Dean hurried in, buffering and corralling each of the emotions. He pressed grief down, scooped up the doubt, and tried to muffle the guilt regret duo. Acceptance beamed at the Dean’s sudden intervention, so at least there’s that. Love hurriedly relaxed and poured over the other emotion. Happy started to work again too once the rest of the sour emotions got back in line. Kindness and selflessness were being stubborn and had some issues sparking back up, but they did. 

Yet all those winds of horrible memories kept lashing out, trying to destroy his progress. Dean couldn’t interfere too much, not unless he wanted to take a trip down Cas’s Memory Lane again. If those guys didn’t go soon, if Dean didn’t figure something out, then, well, it was hard to imagine Cas waking up any time soon. 

But Cas was on the line, and he couldn’t let Cas down. He would fix this. He would fix him. Maybe with more practice with his soul, or just letting his soul recharge more fully, would solve the problem. A spell or potion or some artifact could be helpful. Something though, some idea, must happen at some point. He needed Cas to wake up. 

He needed Cas. 

Then, just like that, that awful, friend-destroying wind slowed longer than it ever has. Just for a moment, and the sphere glowed stronger, but not blindingly. It thickened with purpose, thin stretchy parts growing stronger and- 

The awful, friend-destroying wind ended its break. It broke it all up ruthlessly, with some sort of vengeance. As if the sphere was evil and vile and had no right to exist rather than the thing that’s going to get Cas stable enough for him to wake up. 

Dean soul vibrated, and if he had his body he would’ve grunted and punched a wall. Dean watched as Cas’s being responded to that, everything slowing down as if Dean might attack- 

Wait. 

Of course. 

Yes! 

Cas’s being began to run again, still the rocky and slowly falling apart thing it was, as Dean brightened. His actual soul felt lighter, though that didn’t make sense yet somehow still totally true. Because Cas freaking responded to Dean’s emotions. Dean’s soul was in the same body as him, so of course Cas would be sensitive to that. Dean’s just been to single-minded determined to realize. 

So, if Cas broke apart when Dean got angry, that was the one thing he really has to avoid. That. . . might be difficult, but worth it. Since when Dean, and not to get too chick-flicky, longed for Cas, that had the opposite effect. Which of course, Dean should’ve seen that. Since the horrible nasty wind came from Cas’s belief that he’s unwanted. 

Did Dean simply think about it then? Was he supposed to think about the time he spent on that random mountain blowing up every now and then because he couldn’t deal with Cas dead at his own hands? Perhaps Dean should avoid showing Cas his own grief, that didn’t seem like a good idea. 

No, it probably had to be more than thoughts, because why make it easy for Dean? Since Dean’s been doing a lot of spelunking into Cas’s memories, about time Cas got some prime Dean experiences. Granted, Dean’s choosing the ones he wants to give to Cas. But oh well, they could talk about their deepest, and most heartfelt emotions later when they were braiding each other’s hair. 

The first one that came to mind was when Cas groomed Dean's wings, and it quickly got shoved back down into the depths of his soul. 

The much better first choice was Cas and Dean’s crash landing. How vivid it stayed in his mind. When Jack first cried for their help, that something happened to Cas, and Dean turned only to see his friend still on the ground, head wobbling as if Cas wasn’t quite sure what direction gravity was pulling. His eyes a stark blue under the headlights of the Impala, only for that to highlight the mismatched pupils trying to constrict the right way. 

Dean had no clue what to do, absolutely none. Here was his friend, that dragged him out instead hiding away, now barely even able to hold a thought together. Such a horrible contrast to the win they were talking in the sky. When Cas spoke of the angels, more warning signs Dean should’ve picked on, but opened a bit. It was nice, pleasant, and then they chased each other and that was awesome. Great, but now that same friend laid, utterly out of it, and it was Dean’s responsibility to fix him. 

Like, how the hell was he supposed to do that? He could’ve done something wrong and hurt Cas, or not do it fast enough and the problem only gets worse. He figured, since his soul fired up so quickly, that it would just happen with pure intent or something. But it didn’t and Cas couldn’t even help, and damnit, Dean had to heal him, but the laughter really didn’t help. 

Okay, Dean may have over exaggerated the intensity of Cas’s injury to his leg at that moment. But, it was, it was completely horrible. Like, the muscles were all starting to swell. Blood leaked in everywhere where it wasn’t really supposed to be. Bone broken and grinding up against each other. It was one thing to know Cas, best friend, was injured. It was quite another thing to actually witness the nerves never ceasing the ‘ALERT! NOTHING WORKS AND IT ALL HURTS! ALERT!’ signal up to Cas’s brain. 

Dean was just worried, he was practically trembling with it, since how the hell could Dean magically gain the knowledge on how to heal something like that. It wasn’t like they could take Cas to a hospital. And what if the wound got infected? Bone was very easy to infect if something got into Cas, and that would be horrible and there would be no way Dean could watch that happen to Cas when he knew he could have prevented it. 

Worry never really sat well in him, and this was not an exception to that. After seeing how breakable Cas was, how the human body could be torn apart like that, Dean had to face how mortal Cas has become. Which really, was Dean’s fault. So that didn’t make him feel any better. Dean sorta needed Cas alive, which made this situation so fucking frustrating since Cas was alive _right now_ and Dean still couldn’t be with him. 

Cas’s heart beats, but Cas couldn’t fly with him and explain about how the atmosphere absorbed different colors when the sun was at different heights which produced the colors in a sunset. Couldn’t soar above the clouds, telling him the differences of eagle wings and owl wings. Couldn’t ask for a rematch on the very ruined, but technically a tie, round one. 

He couldn’t watch old horror movies with him, spending a day doing absolutely nothing but being totally fine with that. Cas, despite being ‘alive’, couldn’t live. Couldn’t squirm and shy away when Dean, usually with great relish, found something Cas tried to hide. Dean couldn’t watch his reserved friend smile, kinda gummy, but amazing as his eyes crinkled with and his entire body perked up. 

Cas couldn’t stretch his wings, when Dean would pause and watch the light streak across the jet-black feathers. Shinning with all the luster of his Baby, but Cas controlled the light. Feathers puffed and sucked up all the light. The primaries shifted, and light bended through the feathers. Cas shook his wings, and the light sparkled. It was awesome, awesome not even coming close to describing how everything paused in Dean’s mind when he watched. 

God, Cas was right here, but wasn’t. Wasn’t really here. Wasn’t here to tilt his head, looking at Dean if he had value. If there was more to him than someone who knew how to fight. As if there was entire puzzle, an intricate mystery, within him. Wasn’t here to simply help and not pry him open like Sam’s sometimes did, just letting Dean moll it over. Like Cas somehow actually believed Dean had the emotional intelligence to handle that. 

Cas, who has been dragged through the worst this world has to offer, but still blundered around cluelessly. How simple expressions pre-teens easily have the grasp off, threw the ageless Seraph in a loop. The entire concept of humor took a hell of a long time to settle into Cas, but damn Dean if he didn’t find that funny to watch. And after all this time, after literally being possessed by the devil, it still gave him this sense of innocence, like he still hasn’t quite figured out how the world worked. Which was so. . . so heartwarming to watch. As if there’s still hope for happiness in their messed-up lives. 

_Dean. . ._

Dean snapped out of it, snapped out of Cas, purely on startled instinct. Everything, every tense heartbeat that worried he imagined that voice and he still might not get to experience all those things again and every heavy breath of air that dragged against his clamped-up throat, everything whirled around in his head as his eyes desperately blinked back open despite every muscle trembling in exposed, nervous anticipation. 

He let out a sharp exhale, wings, shoulders, every single muscle in his entire body slumping with what could only be described as literal soul overwhelming relief when two crisp blue eyes, squinting in the light as the pupils constricted properly, met his gaze. 

“Cas,” A hoarse whisper, followed by a shaky breath, fell from his lips. “Cas. . . Cas-” 

Dean swallowed, and a shaky laugh tumbled out because, oh my god, he did it. Cas was, Cas was awake. Awake! Finally! God, after all this fucking time Cas was awake and now, oh my god. Cas was awake, awake. Awake and alive! 

The hand on Cas’s neck dug into the skin, the _thumps_ in his veins speeding up instead of being a steady sleeping pulse and that was awesome! More than awesome, more than amazing, it was exactly what Dean was ready purify Hell and damn Heaven for. No single word could encompass anything near how utterly ecstatic it made Dean. 

Dean’s laugh stuttered as stupid tears, totally caused by his soul, burned their way out Dean’s eyes. And that shouldn’t be the first thing Cas sees after waking up, so Dean leaned, almost jumped, forward. Curling his arms under Cas’s shoulders, relishing at the soft feathers back there that brushed and shifted against his arms as Cas reacted to his touch. Dean’s wings blanketed the entire bed, falling over the sides and trapping Cas right there, so Dean could feel the twitches and small signs of actual life in Cas. 

Because this time, _this time_ , the warmth seeping from Cas came coupled with open eyes. This time, Cas will now be able to hear how they aren’t splitting up for a very long time. This time, when Dean goes to eat, Cas will be awake and eating with him. This time, Dean actually had Cas back. 

“Cas-” God, there was so much to say, Dean knew it. But, but how could say any of it when he was too goddamn grateful that Cas was simply alive and awake and well and his soul was fixed and not out for blood to be able to say anything other except his name. 

The hiccuping-laughing thing his lungs seemed to be doing choked on nothing when Cas’s arms twitched and slid up his sides, brushing past feathers as they came to grab the back of his shoulders. Dean dissolved into totally chick-flick level sobs, pressing them all against Cas’s shoulder, the t-shirt dampening as all the tears, all the ones that burned but never allowed to form, rushed out. Totally caused by his too overpowered soul. 

But, really, Dean couldn’t care. Barely even noticed, because he had Cas. The vamps didn’t take him. Dean didn’t kill him, he didn’t murder Cas. His angel-soul pieced back together all healthy again. Everything that Dean almost lost, his almost desolate life that would have consisted of blowing up mountains, gone. That nightmare won’t ever exist again. Really, the only thing that mattered was making sure that this never happened again. 

“De-” Dean stilled, listening, _feeling_ , Cas’s chest rumble underneath him as he cleared his throat, and that- “Dean.” 

Dean pulled up, looking down at a confused Cas, eye squint and all. Yet the burning tears stopped as Dean’s lungs struggled to remember how to breathe, because the last time Dean heard Cas’s voice, and not a vampire shriek or in some stupid memory either, was the pained cry right before his walkie talkie stopped working. And God, Dean was so worried he’d never hear it again. 

Cas tilted his head on the pillow, a frown wrinkling his face. “Dean, are you alright? I-” 

A huge burst of warmth, glowing but still powerful, flooded over him and he just moved with it. Not one drop of hesitation, and Dean leaned down as he closed his eyes, sending the question away with a long press of lips. Dry, Cas’s lips horribly chapped, and probably couldn’t even count as anything more than lips touching. 

Yet when Dean lifted his head up and looked at Cas, feeling Cas’s heavy exhales brush across his chin and cheeks, once constricted pupils suddenly dilating and then constricting, as if unsure how to react, staring right back at him. It was, well, the great warmth, nothing dared to even try to deny it. His soul, shifting and melting under the such welcoming warmth, longed for more now that Cas is here, alive and staring back at him. 

Because it was glorious. But it was- it was nothing short of glorious and everything above it. Like Cas had somehow took the essence of hope, refined it, and, instead of using chapstick, coated it on his lips. 

“Dean.” The whisper ghosted up to Dean’s ears, Cas’s unused vocal cords grumbling out the soft puff of air. Dean’s body shuddered, how great it was to hear him and know he was all right. 

“Cas,” Dean licked his lips as he stared at Cas’s eyes, making sure he couldn’t miss anything. “Can I kiss you again?” 

Cas sharply inhaled, eyelids pulled back far enough for white to rim all the way around his irises. Dean, who may have been slowly leaning in already, watched the barely noticeable shifts in Cas’s eyes as Cas scanned Dean’s eyes. Dean couldn’t possibly know what he’s thinking, what Cas even remembers, but he wasn’t saying no. The arms on Dean’s back even squeezed a tad tighter, pressing him closer, so Dean didn’t wait for a verbal answer. 

This kiss, only a bit longer, sent thrills through Dean, his whole body and soul rejoicing. Dean pressed against Cas’s chapped lips, pressing as if he could indent himself on Cas, make sure it never left. Dean felt his chest expand and deflate as he shifted, feather-kissing the corner of Cas’s mouth and trailing more kisses towards his neck. He kissed Cas’s temple reverently, cherishing the heat that Cas’s activate pulse put there, before tucking his head next to Cas’s next. 

“God, I’ve missed you.” Dean shifted as he whispered, the arch of his nose following the curve of Cas’s neck. 

Cas was silent for a long moment, though his arms shifted along Dean’s wings, long enough that Dean felt the cozy warmth settle down. Man, it felt like a huge blanket, something safe and protective too. Like Dean could stay here forever and be perfectly content with it. His wings curled into the bed, covering both him and Cas, as he squeezed his arms under Cas. Yeah, Dean could stay here for a very long time. 

“You should sleep Dean,” One of Cas’s hands slid up to his neck, two fingers pressing lightly into his neck. “You need a lot of rest.” 

Dean grumbled into the warm skin, feeling each exhale breezing back against his face. “But you just woke up.” 

“And I’m grateful, but please, rest. You need sleep.” 

Dean nodded, and it didn’t seem like a bad idea. Besides, Cas did just wake up, Dean should follow what he says because that’s a nice thing to do for someone he thought was dead. 

“Just make sure. . .” Dean sighed, “Be sure to stay.”


	20. Just Hold Me Tight and Don't Let Go

The moment Dean fell asleep, the tight squeeze of his arms loosened around Cas. Yet even in his state of repose, his arms stayed loosely clamped. His fingers twitched, nudging against his shoulders while his head occasionally pressed into his neck, sighing softly when he relaxed again. 

Cas resisted the urge to fidget underneath him. Dean’s heartbeat lulled against his, his entire body pinning him down to the bed. If Cas were to try and worm his way out, an unlikely prospect as Dean still held him, then Dean’s wings would keep him in. Cas might be able to dislodge them with his own, yet a sort of weakness clung to him and he did not have the will to attempt to move. 

Though, Cas. . . how was he supposed to respond to this? His instincts were scattered all about. Usually, the first would be that distancing himself would allow him to clear his head and decide the optimal outcome. Yet, the mere idea was distasteful. Cas did not want to leave even if he could. 

Cas’s lips tingled with a phantom lingering of the kiss Dean gave him. The muscles in his face spasmed, his heart thumping within. He wanted to smile, that so simple act simply made everything ease. Cas, weighted down by both Dean and a weary weakness, has never felt so lighter. So strange, yet wonderful. Addicting, Cas wanted more. 

Yet, he couldn’t smile because he wouldn’t get more. Cas felt it when he became aware again, his surroundings expanding before his senses. He noticed how Dean’s soul flickered and dimmed within him, a worn strand of what it usually is, despite the longing and desperation drowning Cas. Such a thin strand that demanded for Cas, that needed him. Strong enough that the dim, persistent hope inside him refused to die out completely. But with how tired and flimsy Dean seems to be, his emotions may have led him to act before truly realizing what he did. Dean may have been overwhelmed with relief, though Cas wasn’t quite sure on why, that he may regret what he has done. 

Still, Cas began to stroke alongside Dean’s back, no lights burst and not one electrical circuit disrupted despite the strong emotions pouring from Dean. Perhaps Cas could not rely on Dean’s actions being consistent, not when his soul bypassed the rules and traditions the human mind clings to so fiercely, but was his soul might not be strong enough to create such strong emotions. 

His tongue darted out to his tongue, trying to sequester the tingle Dean left there. He thought back to April and Meg, perhaps if he could direct his emotions or prove to himself this was not something to be treasured. Surely that would work, the actions were the same. 

The kiss with Meg, it disgusted his grace. Cas, at the moment, was very preoccupied at protecting the Winchesters while trying to keep them in ignorance, and he figured that kissing a demon would derail their thinking. It was awful, thoroughly. While Meg wasn’t the vilest of her kind, her corruption attacked and tarnished the core of his grace. The bitter ash of Hell, the poisonous resentment, along with sharp, uncaring features, left him with the distinct urge to scratch at his lips. 

And April, April was fine. Cas never got the same. . . hopeful flare, a rush that seemed tense with anticipation, buzzing even. Even when he was blissfully unaware of her plans of torture and murder, he didn’t care for the motions his body was partaking in. He remembered watching humans performing intercourse during their lifespan and was merely trying to replicate it. 

Yet his emotions, all of these feelings, stayed and clashed with the simple kiss Dean gave him. Compared to the other two, it wasn’t nearly on the same intensity, yet his heart thumped faster, louder within him because of it. It was the same thing as the other two, less intense than the other two, yet completely different. He couldn’t let this one go. 

For now though, Cas tilted his head against Dean’s, his short hair dragging across his skin in a strangely comforting way. Dean was here now, and Cas had strict orders not to leave. Cas didn’t know how he would handle it when Dean woke up and apologized for the kiss, but that time was not now. 

Since, regardless of what happens when Dean wakes, Cas knew Dean wants him to be with him. Dean telegraphed that clearly through whorls of need, longing laced with powerful grief, so no possibility existed in when Dean forced Cas away. Although Cas wouldn’t be surprised if Dean kept purposeful distance between them. 

Cas sighed, wondering if that might be worse. If he stayed with Dean now but still apart, knowing that a simple kiss could give him a thrill unheard of amongst the angels, then he might not be able to handle that. How did humans handle this? Cas liked to think he’s been understanding more and more concepts, yet this one was painfully unfamiliar. 

Cas attempted to get the thoughts out of his head again, refocusing on Dean. The press of his body against his, reassuring and warm as his chest softly puffed out and deflated against his. Easy, relaxed breaths brushing across his neck, no signs of any nightmares or unease. The almost nonexistence squeeze in his arms as Dean constantly verified Cas has indeed not left him. 

Oh, it was nice. Even if they never share another kiss, this may happen when they watch movies or- 

“Oh great,” Sam’s groan floated through the air, and Cas couldn’t determine if it was frustrated or tired, perhaps both. “Dean, couldn’t you collapse somewhere easier to move-” 

Cas opened his eyes, Sam freezing in the middle of the room when their gazes meet. His slacked, weary face snapped tight. Eyelids pulled back as Sam’s jaw opened and closed. Again, Cas did not know what caused such astonishment with him now awake, but it certainly provided big reactions the Winchesters. 

“Hello Sam.” Cas briefly shifted his head away from Dean’s, only to shift if back because. . . . Well, Cas had no better reason than it simply made him feel comforted, warm. “I would not recommend moving Dean, he was quite adamant about staying.” 

“Yeah, okay, sure thing.” Sam, jarred out of his shock, swiftly sitting on a backless chair next to Cas’s bed, avoiding Dean’s wings sprawled out over the sides and to the ground. “How are you feeling? You’ve been out a long time.” Sam’s gaze didn’t waver from his as he spoke, but it seemed he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Dean when he finished. 

“I’m fine, I feel very weak, but physically speaking, I am fine. However, I do not quite remember what happened.” Cas rubbed Dean’s back as he let his eyes drift, knuckles brushing against the underside of Dean’s scapulars as Dean hums sleepily above him. “I remember the male vampire forcing his blood into me, but I blacked out quickly and now I’m here. What happened?” 

Sam sighed a long and heavy stream of air, shaking his head lightly. “I’ll have Dean tell you in detail. But the cliff note version? Healing you of the vampirism wasn’t nearly quite as simple as we thought.” 

“Oh,” Cas pressed his head against Dean’s, needing more comfort now that there’s yet another weighted topic they must discuss. “Very well, may I at least request water? Perhaps some food? Dean refuses to move, even in sleep.” 

Sam nodded urgently, springing to his feet. “No problem. I’ll be right back.” 

Cas fidgeted under Dean, not that he wanted to out from under him, but to readjust. Cas wished to stretch his wings, even if they were tired enough to resist such movement. The bones and muscles cramped in their wound-up position. His feathers squished together and itched, though perhaps they might need to be groomed again. 

Dean’s wings appeared to be well-kept too, though that might have been through the efforts of Dean’s soul rather than Dean taking care of his wings. Regardless, Cas needed to show Dean how wonderful and relaxing a grooming is. Besides, if Cas was the reason Dean’s soul has shrunk to the point of a mere wisp of what was before Cas’s encounter the vampires, then it was his duty to make sure it recovered without any more added stress. 

Although now it made a bit more sense as to why Dean had become so weary. Cas had been turned by the vampires, and seeing how he couldn’t recall any of it when humans can, his case must have been different. In the end, vampirism was meant to infect human souls, not angels. Without his grace to protect him from that, things must have gone very badly indeed. 

Judging from the reactions from both Winchesters, badly was putting it lightly. 

Though at least he didn’t die. Even if he stayed asleep, Heaven would still be able to draw upon his grace. He hoped that Heaven remains stable, at least until the situation with the Winchesters calmed and he had an opportunity to search for a solution. There must be a way to create energy similar enough to grace that could power Heaven. 

His thoughts drifted to recent memories, he wondered if Sam told Jack and if he would come in soon. He wondered how many vampires were in the nest and if they’ve all been killed. He was slightly curious how they brought him here, they didn’t have a truck available to them when they arrived. He thought about two wing impressions burned on concrete, and in between laid Uriel’s dead vessel. 

He shook his head, blinking hard. Dean shifted, disturbed by his movements and his chest rising and falling much more rapidly than before. Cas swallowed, the brief thought of his friend dislodging his content feeling into something heavy. Anna killed him, yes, but it was the first angel death he witnessed, one that from his actions. The first of many. 

Dean snorted, a little more sleepy and slurred than normal, as his arms squeezed around him. His head nuzzled against his neck, wings shuffling in closer. Cas frowned for a moment, wondering how Dean could respond so quickly to his emotions until the weight of Dean pressed those thoughts out. A refreshing warmth that swept the heavy twisting and bogged muscles right out of him, as if they never even truly existed. 

So Cas laid there, content with not questioning the how and why Dean could respond to him like that, and simply cherished it. He hugged Dean back, pushing against Dean’s head with his own. Part of him wanted to pull back his hands to stroke the outside of Dean’s wings, but instead he kept them in the heat between Dean’s back and wings, running them down Dean’s sides softly. 

“Cas? You awake?” A soft whisper called him out of his tranquil state, in which he left reluctantly and with slight hesitation. 

Cas groaned, peeling his eyes open slowly. “Yes, I am.” 

“Oh, uh,” The younger Winchester quickly set down the requested food and water on the nightstand, smiling sheepishly as Cas frowned at him. He was almost asleep. “So yeah, food and water, just uh, rest.” Sam wouldn’t stop smiling even as he backed out of the room. “Yell really loud if you need anything.” 

“Oh and Sam,” Cas tilted his head at the retreating Winchester. “Be sure to rest yourself.” 

Sam nodded and Cas returned the gesture while simultaneously nuzzling against Dean’s head again. Though Sam disrupted his peace, startled his thoughts awake despite his body limb and malleable under Dean, he was grateful to stay awake. Since Castiel will not have this when Dean awakes, and now that Cas has experienced the peace and warmth and the lack of stress, not having this be dreadful, absolutely devastating. 

Dean must be regretful about the ordeal; Cas couldn’t image a different scenario. Yet, perhaps there was something Cas could do, steer Dean into accepting this. Granted, if Dean kissed based on nothing but relief, he would still pull away despite anything Cas does. Still, doing something would be better than nothing at all. Cas could assure himself that he at least made an attempt. 

Cas wiggled one hand out of Dean, the eagle winged man grunting softly as his let wing fluttered about for Cas’s limb. The limb preoccupied with trying to grab some water and food. If Cas ate, then he would better awake to ponder his new plan. The distracting scratch in his throat, the one that perked awake to inform him how delightful drinking would be, would also be gone. 

The sandwich Sam prepared went down tasteless, washed away with water. In retrospect, Cas saw the sandwich full of spinach and ham and tomatoes, yet he never tasted those flavors. Perhaps he has become too tired to waste energy on tasting. Nevertheless, it went down smooth and that was all Cas needed. 

Meal finished, his mind grumbled slower and softer than before Sam reentered. He felt as if he were sinking into the mattress, encompassed by all this weight warm pushing into him. Seeking out him. Oh, how easy it would be to let go of his thoughts and stop with the moving world. 

Yet, Cas had to, he had to. . . think of something. Needed subtlety, he mustn’t scare Dean. Also needed to be obvious, so obvious Dean couldn’t mistake it. Too intense, then Dean might distance himself more than he would have otherwise. 

Cas sighed, recognizing a losing fight. His thoughts swirled into randomness, the effort to keep them on track mounting with every second. He turned his head against Dean’s, and his eyes slipped closed. He pressed a soft kiss against Dean’s temple, a blessed buzzed fanning throughout him at the simple act. 

He smiled against the skin, the warm soft skin, reveling that he would do that at least once more time. Maybe more if the plan works. 

A series of vibrations rumbled through Cas, pulling him out of his darkness. His eyes blinked open, painfully adapting to the light, as Dean shifted above him. The arms under Cas moved away after a time that’s felt awfully too short. Dean was waking up, yes, and Cas needed to do something. Yet, a haze riffled through his thoughts, urging him to sleep again. A haze that almost succeeded in making him fall back into the warmth. 

Cas waited a moment longer to verify Dean was indeed awake, the thought of sleeping quickly dying as his heart thumped faster in dreadful and excited anticipation. When Dean’s wings shook, feathers rubbing feathers that almost made Cas go pliant with a pleased hum, Cas knew he had to be awake. 

“Dean?” Cas drew in a slow inhale, softly, adoringly kissing Dean’s temple as he stirred. Dean stiffened instantly, and Cas heavily exhaled. Reluctant to draw away his lips now, the last time they will touch Dean’s skin, Cas murmured against his skin. “Do you feel better now?” 

Dean pulled up, and Cas refrained from sighing again. Instead, he held Dean’s eyes as they narrowed at him. Maybe Cas could indeed fall back asleep, with the heavy numbness creeping over his warmth. He didn’t like it, didn’t like anywhere close to the relaxing warmth retreating away, but sleep would be better now. Better than the conversation about to come. 

Dean’s eyes darted to his lips before slinking off to the side. “I kissed you.” 

“Yes,” Cas sighed, looking away from Dean as he held onto the sensation that would never repeat. “Twice.” 

“Cas, I-” Dean shifted further up, farther away, and the urge to fall asleep grew on Cas. It was strange, how he knew this would happen but now that it has, he wanted nothing more than to retreat, to avoid. 

“What Dean?” Cas wondered vaguely if he sounded upset; he really only felt tired, so tired. “Are you going to apologize for it?” 

Dean stopped moving, eyes squinting back into his again. Cas looked back, wondering when Dean would finally say it. Dean just needed to say it then Cas could move on and grieve his short time of bliss. Instead, Dean stayed irritatingly perfectly still, his eyes boring into Cas as Dean waited to find something. His pupils slowly dilated the longer he stared, green strands flickering bright in his irises before dying out. 

“You mustn’t activate any of your power, your soul is still recovering.” The words fell from his lips, one by one, empty even to him. “It might take weeks for it to fully recover back to the strength before the hunt.” 

Dean’s lips pressed together, “Well, hauling your ass back into the land of living took some effort.” 

“I did not die; Sam would’ve told me if it was that grave.” 

Now Dean glared. The arms once underneath him curled into fists by his sides and on Cas’s wings as a fine quiver shot through his wings. Brief flashes of green lit up Dean’s eyes as he glowered, heavy and barely contained exhales landed on Cas’s face. Muscles tensed up above him, and Cas ignored the sudden urge to fidget beneath Dean’s anger. 

“I thought you did.” The growl, quieter than a whisper, forced Cas’s eyes down as wings shrunk into him. “When I tried to wake you up after burning the vamp in you, I couldn’t find anything. You were gone, your body was a husk, and I thought I killed you.” 

Cas pressed against the bed, at first following the instinct to try a distance himself from Dean, but then unwillingly as Dean lowered further down, glaring all the way, until Cas could feel his words through his chest. “But then you weren’t. Mist as Rowena put it, puzzle pieces as Naomi put it.” 

“You-” Cas’s body jerked at the name, a small flutter beating down his wings. “You spoke with Naomi?” 

Dean snorted. “Real piece of work. Spend all that energy into forcing the portal to let me up to Heaven and deal with her. Then spend the rest of my time being angel-soul surgeon to snitch you back together.” 

Cas tried to curl in more, tried to retreat from Dean. He didn’t want Dean to get so angry, but as always with the Winchester, Cas didn’t know how to deal with that anger. Dean wouldn’t want to be consoled, not by Cas, and Cas couldn’t demand him to choke it down or be submissive enough for it die away. Yet Dean had him pinned, no escape routes, so Cas simply lowered his head and waited for him to be done. 

“And I don’t fucking care about my soul’s power level!” Rough finger clamped onto his jaw, jerking his head up to fierce eyes. “I needed you wake to up! And I’ll burn whatever else I have to in order to keep you that way.” 

Cas wanted to open his mouth, tell Dean that he didn’t mean to set him off, but Dean lowered his glare, forcing himself to take a deep breath. A moment later, he lifted his eyes, a permanent faint glow rimming his irises, soft in comparison to the tense muscles of his face. 

“I couldn’t lose you, I can’t lose you.” Shy whispers barely vibrate the air, so hesitant that, despite being only inches away, they are almost inaudible. “So if you want me to apologize for the kiss, then fine-” 

“No!” Instincts, emotions, quickly took control over his mouth. “No, I was hoping you wouldn’t want to.” 

As if his heart was having a languid time moments earlier, blood rushed through his body, pressure pushing and slamming against his arteries. Dean must’ve noticed, but regardless, Cas regulated his breathing in an attempt to control himself. Yet heat already bloomed, flushing to his muscles and face, and he’ll soon break out into a sweat. 

The jaw-slacked, utterly stunned look Dean was giving him didn’t help matters in the slightest. 

Cas swallowed, forcing his vocal cords to end the tension he impulsively created, though the temptation to wallow in it only let a whisper squeeze out. “Dean?” 

Dean failed to reply, though he somehow managed to close his mouth. His eyes glowed, brighter than before but not encompassing, as he looked away only to look back at Cas then away again. His wings trembled along with Cas’s, a soft rustling sound easing the heightened silence and heartbeats. 

He pulled up a bit, and Cas squeezed his arms to his sides, willing himself not to react. Dean swallowed, once, twice, but no words managed to come out, not even a whisper as his eyes continued to dart all over. At least he didn’t keep pulling away, but Cas needed to hear his opinion before he had a hope to control the emotions coursing through his body. 

Another minute, maybe ten, dragged by. Only the rapid thumping of Cas’s heart kept count, and if he were a full angel, then he might even be able to say the precise number of times the organ shoved as much heated blood into his arteries as it possibly could. The first droplets of sweat started to form on the back of his neck. 

Dean once again attempted to say something, Cas stilling breathlessly with anxiety again, only to shut yet again. Again! Cas inhaled sharply, a violent tremor wracking his heart again, and one thought cried out that he couldn’t take that again. That Cas had to do something since Dean must be incapable. 

So as Dean’s eyes darted back towards him again, as he swallowed yet again, Cas snapped up, pressing his lips against Dean’s much too roughly. Teeth pushed back against the flesh of his lips as his and Dean’s slammed together. Cas heart lurched, thoughts spinning into chaos, as their mouths collided and smashed together. 

A hand grabbed his shoulder, pushing him back. Panting, Dean licked his lips, huffing softly. “Man, Cas, someone forgot to tell you how to kiss.” 

“Apologizes.” Cas’s eyes stayed glued to Dean’s lips, giving partial attention to his words as he notices, with great relief, that Dean didn’t tell him no. “The only teachers I’ve ever had was a pizza man on television, a demon, and a reaper who planned on murdering me. Forgive me for my inexperience.” 

Dean chuckled lightly, slowly lowering both of them back onto the bed, settling above Cas comfortably. “Well, I hope you’re a hands-on learner then.” 

Again, Dean lowered, staring at Cas as his lips stayed centimeters away. Before Cas had a chance to question what Dean was doing, the faintly glowing orbs slipped shut as Dean eased them into another kiss. Thankfully, a much slower kiss that involved no teeth. 

Quickly closing his eyes as well, Cas followed along as Dean’s lips slid and moved against his. The ebb and flow, the slide of their mouths, it encased every thought and emotion leading to it. Cas found them all irrelevant, all so dull and meaningless as a special, unique warmth swept over him. So human, fundamentally human, and yet Castiel could describe it nothing else as a blessing. A sheer wave of holy elation which transcended everything. 

Cas treasured it, this new facet of humanity that made him pure and cleaned. He pressed further into the kiss, intensifying it even if it didn’t speed up. Dean’s fingers burrowed into his hair, tugging into his scalp, and the tension flowed right out of Cas’s body. 

He smiled into the kiss, sighing softly. Cas felt Dean’s smile before he moved and pressed a kiss to the corner of Cas’s mouth. The hand in his hair petted him softly as Dean pressed another kiss under his left eye, then a last one on his temple until his light breathy voice brushed against his ear. 

“Well, I think you’ve improved significantly.” 

“Is that so?” Cas smiled, looking up at nothing. 

“Oh yeah,” Dean sighed heavily on top of him, head laying right next to Cas’s. “But you’re still a rookie, most definitely. Quite a few areas that have room for improvement.” 

Cas chuckled mutely and finally moved his hands up Dean’s back, holding his shoulders. “I trust that you’ll give me more lessons then?” 

Dean huffed, “Another apocalypse wouldn’t stop me.” 

Humming up into Dean, Cas changed from holding Dean to stroking up into his wings. He frowned slightly as the feathers shifted under the new pressure, out of alignment and sorting back into place as the back of Cas fingers glided through them. They must need a grooming, since Dean hasn’t been able to maintain them himself. Cas would not stand for them to be in such deplorable conditions. 

“Dean, I need to groom your wings.” The man in question sighed but didn’t even tense to get up. “Please, they are in a terrible condition.” 

Dean grumbled, pressing into Cas further rather than drawing away. “Well, I know that, but I can’t really feel it, y’know? Kinda been busy.” 

“And while I greatly appreciate your efforts to heal me, I do feel the urge to return the favor.” 

“I don’t wanna get up.” The rumble went through Cas’s neck, muffled by his own skin. Regardless of what was said and how much Cas’s own desires agreed, Cas grabbed and pushed Dean’s shoulders up. It took a groan and a moan, but the man heaved himself up. Wings practically limp as they dragged over Cas’s. 

And as Cas stood himself, his feathers bristled and itched. His hands twitched to satisfy the sensation, and he couldn’t completely suppress the unbridled flap of his wings. Dean groomed them last, and that was. . . a very long time ago. Approximately four days added to the time he was unconscious. 

“How long was I asleep?” Cas and Dean entered the hallway, and as their pinions brushed against each other and the wall, the itch increased. Though ignored as the implications of what happened to him, what Dean must have done to wake him up. 

With a shoulder and wing shrug, Dean passed the map room and continued through the hallway. “I wasn’t keeping track. Maybe a week? Might be more.” 

Cas hummed in response, calm, but the quick jerk of his wings gave him away. He shifted them as Dean glanced back, and the feathers rubbed together under Dean’s stare. Which increased the itch, but only stressed the rapid conclusion all his thoughts turned to. Only a week? It should have been longer, unless the severity of his condition was exaggerated by Dean, but Dean seemed genuine as he had no reason to lie. 

Despite Dean’s eyes refusing to leave him, Cas held his wings in place and continued walking. It would be pointless to bring it up until Cas understood. Naomi took years to heal herself after her grace was compromised, and she was still functional. Granted, she would have still had access to some of grace to mend herself and her loyal angels to help. Cas’s situation left him unconscious, not terribly surprising given his lack of grace, but it should have taken him a long time for him to feel so intact, even with Dean’s help. 

They entered the kitchen, Dean’s gaze finally moving as he opened the refrigerator. Cas stood by the doorway as Dean tossed him his water bottle. Cas drank it, barely watching as Dean rummaged around for something to eat. 

Dean spoke to Naomi, which remains a puzzle to Cas. Dean mentioned forcing the portal to give him access to Heaven, which should have killed him and thus should not have been possible. Then he spoke to Naomi, and Cas controlled the flare his wings tried to do, who couldn’t give Dean sound instructions what to do. Dean used his soul, while Naomi was limited to using a tool to manipulate angels. 

Healing him then must have been simple then, since Dean’s soul certainly surpasses a mere tool. Perhaps Cas shouldn’t analyze the situation with this level of depth, applying a set of assumptions that simply don’t apply to Dean. Cas never taught him how to enter minds or handle souls, but Dean’s resourceful. 

The straw slurped up the remaining water, the liquid staggering into his mouth in bursts. He removed it from his lips, heading to the sink as Dean kept pulling out sandwiches from the fridge. A quick turn of the valve and water gushed out. Cas glanced over to Dean, who now occupied himself with shoving the sandwiches into a drawstring bag. Plastic bottles crinkled as he tightened the straps. 

“You ready?” 

Cas tilted his head, turning to turn off the sink and to twist the cap on his water bottle. "What should I be ready for?” 

“Well, you’re wings could use a good grooming too. But hey, if you really want to do that here, in the library since that’s the only place where there’s enough space, where anyone can just bump into us-“ 

“No,” Cas’s wings shuddered- and itched- at the mere thought of someone tripping into his feathers. “We can leave, now if you wish.” 

Dean chuckled and gestured for him to come along. Cas smiled, the mere thought of sunshine and wind and fresh air urging him forward. Their wings brushed as they walked, and Cas knew he needed a grooming. The black feathers shifted constantly, irritated and dry, with every contact they made with Dean’s rustic gold ones. 

The metal stairs clanged loudly in silence, though Cas didn’t bother looking to see if the other hunters ogled at them or the room was simply naturally quiet. It didn’t matter, for when the door swung open and Cas followed Dean outside, Cas relished in the sunlight shining on him in the cool air. His lungs expanded greedily, fresh air rushing eagerly into them, and Cas held it. He held the cool air, light and peaceful, before reluctantly letting it go. 

“Come on,” Dean nudged him with a wing, the sunlight dazzling the feathers as he expanded them. “Just a short flight, we got this.” 

With that, Dean started to rise. Cas kept his wings folded, watching him. Dean’s improved, wobbly and a bit off-centered, but still a vast improvement from the first time they took off. Cas spread his wings and rose quickly, ignoring the protests from the limbs, and within seconds he met a glaring Dean in the air. 

“Show off.” 

Cas glanced at Dean as they kept close to the top of the trees. They weren’t close to many roads, but safer not to take any chances. “Considering the conditions of your wings, you did quite well. Soon it will become second nature.” 

Dean grunted, pulling ahead a bit to lead the way. They glided down when the forest gave way to a field, trying to stay low but still quite a few yards up, and Cas saw their destination. The little patch of forest he fled to after Dean healed him of his broken leg and concussion. A little out of the ways, considering they could have groomed their wings outside the bunker, but at least they wouldn’t be disturbed, that was the important part. 

Wisely, Dean did not attempt to fly into the patch of woods and instead landed outside of it. Cas’s feathers ruffled and fluffed as he landed, shifting irritably as the folded against his back. Yes, it was very wise of Dean not to attempt to fly where agility would be needed. 

Leading them through without any hesitation, Cas wondered how he knew the way. Cas’s own memories stayed elusive, nothing around him gave him any sense of direction, but he trusted Dean. Assuming Dean was trying to lead them to the creek around here, the logical assumption. 

Cas heard the water before the trees broke into a clearing, the soft whisper of running water as they walked closer. Dean shrugged off the bag, tossing it to the side, and threw a grin over to Cas, his eyes shying away though. 

“Whatdaya think? Nice and secluded, a bit of fresh air never hurt either.” Dean sharply turned his head, gazing around him sheepishly. 

“It’s very serene.” Gently, Cas laid his hand on Dean’s shoulder, shuffling closer. “Would you like me to groom your wings first?” 

Dean shook his head, awkwardly gesturing down to the ground. “No, you first. Don’t wanna risk falling asleep by waiting too long.” 

“Very well.” Cas glanced sideways at him as he crossed his legs under him, resting his hands in his lap as Dean rustled behind him. Dean wasn’t feeling nervous about being with him, surely not? Would he doubt? Did Cas- 

“Hey,” Dean cleared his throat. “I know I’m not best at showing my gratitude and everything, but I’d never replace any part of you. Which, y’know, includes your crap, mistakes and all. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

“Dean-” 

“No, I’m on a roll.” Dean stared at him when Cas turned his head, his eyes didn’t glow but gleamed with fierce determination. “Never feel sorry for having a heart too big and with too good intentions. Just, for fuck’s sake, remember that you got me to help you. I’m not going to turn you away, never again.” 

Cas averted his gaze forward, a blooming heat pouring through his limbs. Grinning at lap, Cas relaxed the grip he had on his knees. 

“Thank you Dean.” 

“Yep, anytime. Now come on, spread those beauties.” 

Sighing softly, Cas spread his wings. The feathers rubbed drily against each other, and at the mere thought of them about to be groomed an eager shiver vibrated through his wings. It has been too long, and Cas trusted Dean would take great care of them. 

Cas gasped as Dean’s hands plunged into his plumage, a zinging excited sense racing through him. He hummed as he sank down into the situation, long gone was those confusing and shocked zaps his feathers used to give him. Now Cas relished it, the fingers tenderly weaved through the feathers and corrected them. 

He understood what Dean said earlier now, his eyelids drooped before he reigned in his sudden grogginess. Yet then swiped over his oil glands, and oh, did that scatter his thoughts. Only slightly aware he was humming, Cas gave into the urge to lean back. To nestle into Dean’s warmth, press his gentle hands deeper, and simply relax. 

A huff, soon followed by a chuckled, interrupted his haze, and Dean pushed his shoulders forward. “Come on Cas, try to stay upright.” 

Cas sighed when Dean returned to grooming him, almost sagging in relief as his feathers finally, _finally_ , no longer felt so dry. “Apologizes.” 

Dean may have been faster this time, or perhaps Cas couldn’t measure time accurately. To him, only seconds past between the first time Dean caught him from tipping forward almost unconscious from the second time, then the third time. He definitely did not receive the appropriate amount of sleep. Most certainly. 

“Hey,” Dean shook his shoulder, “You there? I think I’m done.” 

“Hm?” Cas glanced back him, struggling to keep his eyes open as he flexed the feathers. Strange, a moment ago he knew large sections remained dry and itchy, but now they were fluid and shiny. He should have insisted for him to groom Dean first. 

“You good?” 

“Yes, yes I am.” Cas shook his head and stood quickly, blood rushing to his head at the sudden change. “I’ll groom your wings, though I may need to look at them again this morning. I might not be able to do an adequate job right now.” 

“S’okay, just get rid of the itchiness.” 

Cas settled down behind Dean as those beautiful dark golden wings spread before him. They may be dry, but it seemed even that couldn’t ruin their metallic shine, or perhaps that was only the sun. The feathers rustled, some out of alignment, yet Cas took a moment to appreciate them. The moment also used to try to wake himself awake; it would humiliating if he collapsed in Dean’s wings. 

Only letting his fingertips brush over the broad feathers, a new peace settled over Cas. Still tired, but Cas fell into the softness of Dean’s feathers. A lazy smile stretched his lips, and Cas glided his fingers through the wings. 

Dean ahhed, arching up when Cas groomed the feathers closest to his back, and he hummed deeply as Cas cared for his primaries. Last time Cas groomed Dean’s wings, he was so focused on speed. He had to be precise and effective, ruthlessly stripping dirt and fixing feathers. Yet this was slow, fingers guiding and combing through Dean’s pinion. 

The vanes brushed against his skin, plaint against his touch. Cas sighed softly, and the dream-like image of like silk blankets wrapping up his fingers flitted through his mind. Heated blankets, as Dean’s body radiated warmth, precious warmth. 

Oil began to run down the feathers, darkening them, before Cas even reached for the gland. They must be super dry, and Cas will alleviate that. Dean’s wings will be splendent, a great thing of divine beauty. If only the rest of humanity could see it, the true magnificence of a righteous soul. Only if others could be enraptured as Dean’s wings deserve to capture all of their attention. 

Cas smiled as the sunlight started to shine the feathers. The radiant golds, deep and earthy, gleaming in light. Yes, Cas mourned for the rest of humanity for never being able to see such a sight. 

Dean shifted his primaries, flexing them as Cas ran his fingers towards them. His grin stretched; Dean probably wasn’t even aware of those movements. It would be as unnoticeable as feeling pressure against the pinky toe when walking. Perhaps Dean too was on the verge of falling asleep. 

When Cas pulled his hands back, a startled, drowsy grunt and fluttering wings proved his thought correct. 

Cas grin grew languid, content, as he stroked the top of Dean’s wing. “Does that feel better?” 

“Tons, but. . .” The word floated into the silence, but the wing pressed into Cas’s hand. 

If he had more energy, if Cas’s thoughts weren’t rapidly dulling, then he would be stubborn enough to make Dean admit to himself what he wants. As of now, Cas didn’t care for it. His hands reached out, seeking warmth, seeking Dean, and pulled him back. That was what’s important, that what Cas cared about. 

Laying back as he pulled Dean with him, both of Cas’s legs slipped to the side of Dean. Mumbling and groaning, Dean twisted and squirmed before settling into his position. Pressed up against Cas’s side, one leg thrown in between his, as he used Cas’s shoulder as a pillow. One wing folded over them like a golden silk blanket, the other, along with a hand, spread over Cas’s stretched wing, black feathers welcoming Dean’s and his fingers. 

Dean sighed, “Thank you.” 

Dozing tendrils of Dean’s soul brushed into him, and Cas squeezed him tighter. He pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead and smiled up to the clouds, feeling his eyes grow heavy with a serene triumph. 

“You’re welcome, ol boaluahe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks! 
> 
> Okay, yes, the ending may seem a bit premature, but I couldn't find it in me to continue. These two dumb asses have said all the important parts and acknowledged mutual feelings, and that's where I'm most content. Anything further and I fear redundancy. It's the 'Aw, the two knuckleheads are in love' ending.
> 
> Also, side note, I apologize if it took me forever to comment back. I certainly didn't mean to be rude, comments are amazing and I don't know a single author who doesn't love them, but I don't actually really click on my account unless I'm posting... So yeah, not trying to be rude, all your comments really made my day!
> 
> SO! I think that is all there really is. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!


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